Homeward Bound
by inkbender
Summary: Luke. Thalia. Annabeth. Fate brought them together, and fate tore them apart. COMPLETE.
1. Green

Luke stiffens as his mother shivers violently, suddenly, even as warm golden sunlight streams in the window onto her hair. Her shoulders flex, contract, pulling in her figure until all that the six-year old can see of her back is a thin, shuddering oval, her arms wrapped around her small form, her head tucked into her chest. A rattling moan escapes from her as the veins rise indigo on her pale hands crossed across her body, fingers clawing into her ribs, scrabbling for a hold on her weathered green sweater, bunching up folds of loose clothing as each digit attempts to reach at him. Another low moan, louder this time, quaking with desperate concern for her son, unspeakable horrors, low mutterings and distress at some looming darkness she cannot put into words, only clench at the small shoulders of a terrified boy uncomprehending of her agony.

Luke flinches, already feeling the bony fingers digging into his flesh, and drops his spoon. The ghost sensation of fingernails burrowing into his skin burn as he flies upstairs, his feet barely skimming each step as if he's running on his father's winged shoes. Luke dives into his room and into his closet, digging his way underneath the heaps of clothes and submerging himself in darkness—but not quite, leaving just the tiniest sliver of morning sunlight to seep into his asylum. The disembodied fingernails still burrow straight to his trembling heart, but as time slowly drains away, his tensed shoulders relax, his frantic breathing slows, and his mind returns to him.

His mother. She isn't usually like this. Not always. Just sometimes, just when he's really happy, wide-grinned happy, that she collapses. Goes down like a ton of bricks, triggered by his smiling face. Lurching forward, rasping in a contorted voice almost not her own, "Luke… not his fate…" All while her eyes glow with that brilliant emerald light, pupils flushed with fluorescent green as she bores into his soul, searching for an undiscoverable answer to her frantic questions while he squirms, trying to duck out of her laser vision.

In those brief episodes when he can hardly stand under her searching gaze, when he's about to collapse from her hard stare, when he can't stand it and all he wants to do is shove her away and fly up those stairs into his room and slam the door and cower under his blankets—only then does she subconsciously realizes his pain and releases. Her emerald eyes fade from shimmering jewels to dull, weathered jade, and she slumps as her energy drains away. Suddenly, she's just… Mom again - the gushing lady who flips pancakes for and fusses over his schoolwork and backed-up reading assignments.

Mom. One person - two separate personalities, a terrifying Jekyll-Hyde who both mothers and frightens him.

Luke's breath stills as heavy footsteps tread up the creaky stairs, contrasting sharply to his previous light-footed flight. His mother has already realized Luke's common flight reaction, yet she still persists in warning her child. Of what, Luke really can't imagine, but just the experience in itself makes him want to run and never, ever look back.

She trips, staggers forward—he's reminded of one time when she'd knocked herself out, pitching headfirst off the front porch into the shrubs below. Startled by the sudden silence, Luke had peeped out the window, watched the flaming wheel of the sun roll across the sky, casting golden light on the twisted, stilled form lying in the bushes and surrounded by assorted bits of glass and silent wind chimes she had frantically torn off the porch during her headlong plunge.

Luke was too scared. Too frightened to approach her. He went out on the porch and just stared at her lifeless body, afraid that she might jump up and grab him, her eyes glowing green.

But she didn't. Half an hour later, she suddenly lurched back to life. Her eyes were a plain blue, her voice was soft and cheerful, and she proceeded to make sandwiches as if Luke still needed a lunch for school.

* * *

"Luke…"

Luke flinches, the familiar name coming from a voice completely alien. Nine years old now, yet he still feels no braver or stronger. His mother—no, the stranger outside—still walks about, cheerfully putting up that motherly mask while a stronger force hovers beneath, ready to strike out if he ever show a glimpse of happiness. When he smiles, a happy nine year old kid with downy blond hair - that's when the evil green spirit leaks out of his mother's face to haunt him - to warn him about the lurking evil soon to quench the image of this little, innocent, blond-haired boy. And Luke scampers up to his closet, drowning his fears in the darkness yet leaving the tiniest sliver of light to connect him to the morning sun. To hope.

It's in these desperate times, when he's hiding in his closet and his possessed mother sulks out in the hall, does Luke wish suddenly for his father. The man he never knew, but the man—the god—who had created him. Who abandoned him without a thought. His dad left before… before he can even remember. His dad had never been there for him, never even dropped by to see him. Luke hardly knows what to think of his father—just a brief memory of his face flashing across his memory, a one-second frame of Hermes with a scowl on his face. The rest of his father's body is purely imagined: slim, streamlined, fit for the messenger of the gods. Sure, with an occupation like that, Luke's father probably has a lot on his mind; but didn't his job ever swing by the lonely little house? Was he truly too busy, or was he purposely avoiding the cursed building and his forgotten child?

"Hermes, help me… not my child…"

Luke fights to suppress the sudden surge of emotions accompanying the thought of his father. A god—and yet he cares nothing for Luke. A mistake, a goof-up. Certainly he was never meant to exist, otherwise Hermes would certainly have shown the slightest bit of acknowledgment to his son, the slightest bit of care towards his unstable mother. But he had never graced Luke with his presence, never a letter, not even a welfare check or something. Just a snapshot, a still frame memory of his imaginary father.

Luke's mother moans again, softer this time, and Luke's breath dares to emerge from his chest. The almost human release of air from his mother signifies the passing of her glowing green eyes and rough voice, but just to make sure, Luke remains burrowed in his closet, even when his mother's clear, bright voice rings down the hallway, calling him for breakfast.

* * *

If May Castellan notices anything strange about the bulging backpack Luke brings downstairs the first school day after spring break, she doesn't let on. Luke's perfectly fine with this; the less suspicious she is, the better. She fusses over his school supplies, cheerily peppering him with questions: "Did you finish your reading assignment? Are you ready for school? You still want Kool-Aid, right?" At one point, she attempts to place his lunch in his already stuffed backpack, pulling open the zipper, but Luke yanks his pack away. "Hey!" he yells, slinging it over his back. "Don't—I'll… I'll be back for lunch." He hefts the pack, feeling its contents move about.

He's had the entirety of spring break to plan this out—a handful of clothes, an extra jacket, a couple granola bars, a bottle of water, a pocketknife, a few crumpled bills stolen from his mother's bedroom. It was strange territory—his mother's bedroom—and he had taken some time to explore the place. There, he'd found a bronze knife; awestruck, he held it up to the light, noting the morning sunlight hitting the jagged blade and casting amber speckles across the room. Celestial bronze, stuff of the gods. Apparently Mom did more than clean the house while he was at school. But she wouldn't be needing it anymore, with him gone. Once he was gone, the very few monsters that stopped by this isolated Colonial house would stop visiting. One step forward to freedom…

May raises her voice slightly as Luke makes for the door. "Okay, honey… I'll be waiting. I love you, Luke."

Luke hesitates on the threshold as her words sink in. He almost turns back, almost wants to run back into his mother's arms—but he never knows if those arms will wrap around him comfortingly or claw into his back, shaking him in the urgency of future warning. Such a momentous decision, running away from home, from his comfortable shelter, from his loving, well-meaning mother. It would be so much easier if she were possessed all the time, frightening him with glittering emerald pupils. So much easier to throw it all down and walk away and never look back. Walk into the arms of the huge wide world, enticing him with adventure and freedom from a haunted mother and a father who never cared. But no, his mother is standing there, so, so alone, yet so cheerful, the quintessence of a caring parent. He looks over his shoulder uncertainly, and May spots Luke's troubled countenance.

She stiffens as her eyes flare with Greek fire, and Luke's out the door and down the dirt road, running from it all. Running away from the fits of possession, from his comfortable room and his warm bed haunted by his distressed mother, pitching forward into the darkness of his closet, the world unknown, sealing himself off from his house and leaving only a tiny strand of hope to bind him to home.

Because he has no home now.


	2. Electric

No destination. Just a meandering journey from his house, giving his school a wide berth. No need to run away from home just to be sucked inside school—carrying a weapon too. Luke can almost feel the dagger handle in his fingers, smooth metal playing across his fingertips. He has never had any sort of weapons training, apart from the occasional video game, but he finds himself occasionally taking out the bronze dagger and playing with it. The metallic blade isn't too sharp, dull enough that he can run his finger along its straight length without injury; it's only when the blade begins to curve into the tip does it become rather fine, sharply defined, culminating in a rather wicked apex.

Luke imitates several throwing motions, rotating his wrist, angling the arch. It looks alright while the knife is still in his hands, but for now, he refrains from throwing it like a dart. Not like there's anybody there to watch him, to jeer at him as he struggles through the mire of words, as the letters swim across the page: Fuor srcoe adn sveen yaers ago… lkoo, Jnae, look, see Spto rnu_. Way to go, Jane_.

STOP. The white letters glow on the red sign, but even as he stares at the four letter word, the O begins to detach itself from the octagon, floating its way across to tangle with the S. In frustration, Luke throws the nearest item at the stop sign, and the celestial bronze knife pins the O in place, dead center.

Luke gapes at the perfect throw, yet a small portion of his brain smugly notes that the word STOP remains frozen in place.

*****

People are too trusting of a little ten-year old kid with a bright grin etched across his face. Especially if that grin is slightly marred by two missing teeth. Actually, one and a half; his pointer finger gently strokes the new, mature tooth making its way into its vacated position, a spot reserved just for this new tooth. No more soft child's hair anymore though; he's thoroughly dirty, hasn't taken a shower in two weeks, and is doing relatively fine hiding out in the city of Portland, Connecticut.

Home is such a distant memory. Luke briefly longs for a steaming bowl of broth, imagining the water vapor casually drifting across the oily surface—but only a second, because he espies the hands holding the bowl out to him, and once again he's plunged in the continuous nightmare as his mother's fingernails unceremoniously drop the bowl to dig into his shoulders, and gleaming green eyes flash from within her contorted face, white hair in wisps around the two, and she mutters, "Not my child… not his fate…"

Luke surfaces from his memory, gasping as her searching eyes fade back into the recesses of his mind. _Can't think about that right now_, he exhales, using steady, measured breaths to slowly cover up home. _Need to concentrate._

The few crumpled bills he'd found in his mom's bedroom—he quickly realized he couldn't just walk into a store and pay for a bag of chips with his fifty dollar bill. Just a loaf of bread, a serving size of milk—"I'm shopping for my mom, she's sick in bed"—enough to last him the next couple days, until his stomach rumbles again.

Slowly, Luke's been able to hone his throwing skills. The butter knife he picked out of the garbage isn't much for throwing, and the pocketknife he needs; but the bronze knife stays true, flying straight and hitting hard. At least, able to puncture white picket fences and stay in plaster walls; really, hardly any monsters have showed up since he left home. A little strange, to say the least, but Luke is relieved. Perhaps they still haven't caught on; maybe they're still scouting out his old house, with his mother still reeking of prophecy. Warning him of what, Zeus knows, but he's had enough of it. With everything else going on already…

_There_, Luke notes of the rotund businessman waddling down the street. His back pocket bulges, a fat wallet sticking its leather lip for all to see. Luke's eyes analyze the situation: hardly any spectators, an alleyway off to the side, parked cars. His plan of action is already laid out for him, and Luke jumps to carry it out.

He darts out of the darkness, running towards the man, eyes directed at the ground following some invisible string, a line faithfully leading him through the action. Collision—not hard enough to knock the man over, but enough bodily contact everywhere to mask the stray fingers that pry and remove. "Sorry," he grins breathlessly, apologetically. The businessman grunts, disorientated, but his expression softens on the little boy, already excitedly running along after his friends.

*****

_Not much conversation when you're alone_, Luke ponders one day, then tries it aloud. His voice scrapes through his throat, ill-used for a couple months.

He sits against the rough bark of a maple tree, listening to the constant gurgle of the stream next to him, the wind whistling softly through the golden leaves above. It's almost winter, yet today is a nice day. He hugs his stolen jacket around his shoulders, relishing the warmth it provides in comparison to his threadbare jacket from two years ago. Was it really two years ago? Two years since he had stepped out that door and never looked back. Two years since he'd escaped from the shining green eyes and the fingernails digging into his shoulders, since he'd heard his mother mutter his name, his fate.

He shakes the thoughts from his mind, submerging it beneath the cool waters of the creek, the occasional squawks of Canadian geese soaring overhead in their orderly V-formations. He smiles blissfully once again, closing his eyes, allowing his keen senses to soak in the sunlight and the breeze, running his fingers over the flat of his bronze blade…

Home. Even though he's been gone for more than two years now, he still can't shake his definition of home. Home leads to Connecticut, which leads to the two-story white house perched on the side of a cliff, almost isolated from the world, which leads to his room and his bed and his closet and his cheery if not delusional mother. Even two years cannot erase the meaning it holds for him, even if he's still running away from it. Running where to, Luke still doesn't know yet, as long as it isn't Connecticut. Just to give himself a destination, some sort of goal, he's been heading west and south, journeying for the first time out of New England and into... Ohio? Illinois? He's not so sure anymore. Just putting as much distance between himself and home, whether by foot, by train, any means necessary.

His teeth have grown in now, completing his smile, but he hardly shows it anymore. Maybe a little mischievous grin now and then, characteristic of the children of Hermes. He hasn't seen a mirror in so long—home back in Connecticut had been full of them—that he hardly recognized himself. His disheveled, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair had hardly been impressive to strangers; that, and his grimy clothes, seemed to give off the aura of a ruffian, and people gave him a wide berth. Only his icy blue eyes remain the same, as glacial and unchanging as they were two years ago.

He now ruefully runs his hand along his brutally short hair. The haircut had been rather expensive for a buzz cut, but he felt much more presentable now, able to flash that white smile without giving people the impression that he was going to steal their valuables.

Which he still does, by the way. It isn't a very profitable occupation, but it's gotten him by for two years.

Another hour slips by, interrupted only by sporadic rumblings of cars passing on the overhead pass a ways up the hill, and Luke finally opens his eyes when a deep rumbling reverberates through the ground. He hurriedly sits up, brushing bits of bark off his jacket, grabs his weathered backpack, and clambers back up the hill, once again walking along the side of the road, hoodie thrown over his head to warm the little hair he has, back ramrod straight, hitchhiker's thumb cocked.

And as cars barrel by, each throwing a blast of wind on his back, he feels so, so small. Just an eleven-year old kid, so alone.

*****

He sits on a park bench across the street from a McDonalds. Its sunshine golden arches contrast sharply with the stormy grey sky, and he tries to ignore his restless stomach's complaints. He has enough for a cheeseburger maybe, but he can't bring himself to walk in and dump his collection of nickels and dimes on the counter. His black coat insulates his body heat well, but he still feels so cold, so small, so alone.

_Not alone_, he thinks bitterly, hugging his head to his knees as strangers all around speed-walk to their unknown destinations. No one even pauses to glance at the child shivering on the park bench. Everybody minds their own business, never wondering, never caring.

_Just lonely._

Luke lifts his head after a moment, just when the wind ceases its continuous ebb and flow, when all has fallen silent. In this moment of tranquility, just when a struggling ray of sun bursts through the cloud layer and descends softly upon the street, Luke's eyes make contact with another pair of startling blue eyes.

Electric blue.

He shivers, though not from the cold. Just a shock, passing through his entire body, zapping numbed fingers and toes with warmth. He smiles, almost reflexively, just a small grin at the girl across the street.

Just another snapshot memory of her face: those shocking blue eyes, boring into his icy blue irises with an invigorating intensity, enhanced by her midnight eyeliner and spiky black hair. A splash of freckles along the bridge of her nose, not so prominent in the wintertime. Her small mouth, twisted in a half-scowl, framed in a face weathered and beaten by hardship, but stronger, more refined because of it.

Just a snapshot though, because a bus passes in between the two children, and in the next instant she's gone, quick as a flash of electricity.

Luke blinks as warmth exudes out from his pores, leaving him chilly once again. He can almost feel his eyes frosting back over again, refreezing into their glacial forms. No, it wouldn't do to have another episode of warmth. Icy. It's where he belongs. Cool, distant, on the outskirts of society, flying under the radar. It's what he's been doing for the past years, and he's done fine. Hardly any monsters pursuing him, and those that do catch up are easily dealt with by a swipe of his dagger. Reserved and chilly, easily slashing his way through monsters with a cool, calm expression, with a gaze that could freeze anything. Anything and everything but the girl across the street, who had melted him with one shot.

The winter wind resumes again in a sudden onrush of cold, whipping away the last remnants of the warmth he suddenly longs for.

And there she is again, stepping out of the McDonalds, head bent against the howling wind, walking across the street towards him but avoiding eye contact. It's the severed connection between them that allows Luke to hold his dignified icy façade together, staying cool, calm, and collected as she shortens the distance between them, even when she sits on the far end of the bench he's sitting on. He can literally feel the static running through his body, racing from one end to another; the hairs on the back of his neck rise as blood rushes through the back of his neck, creeping gently along the curve of his jaw and coloring his cheeks.

She opens the bag, unwraps a cheeseburger, and bites gently into it. The act releases a plethora of scents: warmth predominantly, food, grease, home. Comfort. The hearth, the flickering flames of warmth that threaten to melt his composure.

Her head turns, eyes making contact with him, and he's vaporized instantly. Knocked off his rocker, reduced to a puddle of trembling water. It takes a couple of seconds to realize her lips are moving, and an additional two to comprehend her words:

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asks, as if they were just… two kids sitting on a park bench. "Your cheeseburger's getting cold."

Luke nods slowly, slowly regrouping so he can reach forward and grasp the wrapped burger. The aura of warmth becomes reality as he bites into the soft bread, his teeth cleaving through the tenderized meat, crunchy pickles, and warm cheese. He chews slowly, savoring the explosion of flavor.

He hears her right away this time, having been waiting for her to speak first. "You too?"

He struggles to get his tongue in working order. It's been lying at the bottom of his mouth for so long, only used to shovel food around his mouth for months. "…Huh?" he manages through a mouthful of cheeseburger.

The girl rolls her eyes. "Running away?"

Luke swallows slowly, life returning to him as the food travels down his throat. "How'd you know?"

She jerks her chin towards him, eyes running down his body. Luke suddenly becomes very self-conscious of himself as her piercing gaze takes in his scruffy clothes, his battered backpack, general grimy appearance. Luke hides his momentary surprise by tearing another bite off the tender burger, and replies, "Yeah." They sit in silence a little longer, and Luke speaks up first. "What's your name?"

The girl shoots him an electrifying glance, shooting back, "What's yours?"

It comes out of his mouth before he can even consider giving a fake name. But what does it matter anyways? "Luke."

The girl sits back satisfactorily, finishing off her burger and reaching into the bag for another one. Another moment of silence, and Luke ventures to ask,

"Aren't going to tell me your name?"

"Nope."

Luke instantly regrets his decision to open up first, but he withdraws in defeat, chewing his burger thoughtfully. The girl observes him carefully, furtively, waiting for a reaction, but Luke can feel her eyes on him, composes himself once again, resetting his icy front.

Though she casually shatters it in the next moment without hesitation. "How many monsters have been after you?"

Luke almost drops his half-finished cheeseburger. "W-w-what?"

She motions at the celestial bronze dagger sticking out of his pocket. "You haven't cleaned it. You been busy lately?"

Luke's immediately on the defensive. On his travels, he's never met another demigod, half-blood by birth, and it's made him extremely cautious. Only monsters actively acknowledge his existence, occasionally coming after his scent; everybody else passes by him carelessly, heading towards their destinations. "What do you know about it?"

She takes a Mace canister out of her pocket nonchalantly, and within seconds it's telescoped into a celestial bronze spear, smooth handle glimmering despite lack of sunshine, point gleaming wickedly.

At this point, a stranger walks by, noting the girl's spear with slight interest before passing on. Luke looks at her frantically. "Put that thing away, do you seriously—"

"It's fine," the girl laughs. "He probably just sees me aiming it at you. The Mist."

The Mist. It takes Luke a while to think about it, but he recalls it in time. His mother had often mentioned it in her delirious spells, complaining to Hermes about no help forthcoming from mortals because… of the Mist.

The girl speaks again. "Monster dust eats away on celestial bronze if you don't clean it. You didn't know about it?"

Luke flushes, wiping the flat on the dagger on his jacket. "Who are you?"

"Thalia." She scowls suddenly, retreating behind her hardened mask again as if realizing she wasn't supposed to be cheerful. Luke almost regrets asking, but now he has a name to anchor onto. Thalia, the girl who electric blue eyes.

And a definite punk style. He takes in her clothes for the first time: black skinny jeans, black jacket slightly open revealing a Blink-182 T-shirt, all on a rather small frame. "Aren't you a little young to be running away?"

Thalia glares at him. "Just how old are you?"

Luke willingly gives up the information first. "Twelve."

"See? Not much difference. I'm ten."

Luke's eyes bulge. "What? You're—"

WHAM! Thalia's spear point is suddenly resting lightly against his Adam's apple, her blue eyes freezing him in place, not with frigid coldness but electrifying terror. He gulps, and her spear tip follows his Adam's apple up, back down. "I can hold my own."

Luke pushes the tip away, and Thalia consents, scooping it back into her Mace canister and sitting back down with her cheeseburger. "I didn't say that," Luke rasps, observing the girl again. She doesn't look ten at all. Maybe her small body, yes, but her face, hardened, cynical, solid. She knew adversity even more than he did, and he admired her for it.

"Where're you going?" he asks, finishing off his food. A full stomach. He feels pretty good.

Thalia reaches in the McDonalds bag, tossing him a warm boxed apple pie. He catches it, appreciating the heat radiating from the green rectangular box. "New York," she replies, and Luke instantly decides he's going there too, then cringes when he realizes that's pretty close to Connecticut. His insides twist in confusion, torn between this newfound friendship and his uncertain destination. Two years of aimless wandering, only to backtrack to square one following a ten-year old?

But his decision-making is cut short as Thalia stands up, tossing her trash away in a nearby bin, and holds her hand out to him. "You coming?"

Without hesitation, Luke takes it.

*****


	3. Wander

"She's only six."

"You're only ten."

Thalia throws up her hands. "That's beside the point!"

Luke hugs the small, blonde girl closer to his side. "What's your name?" he asks gently, giving her a smile.

Despite her tiny stature, Luke had witnessed the tiny girl drive off a monster with just a regular hammer. When he subsequently tried to approach her, she attacked him as well. Thank goodness Thalia hadn't been there; as much as they teased and mocked each other, they had become fast friends… and Thalia was incredibly impulsive. She probably would have skewered the six-year old instantly, without second thought.

As it is, Thalia stands at the entrance of the alleyway, holding their 4 for $5 cheeseburgers in her hands and waiting impatiently for the other girl's answer.

The little girl pouts, shaking her blonde curls. "I'm seven."

Thalia groans. "Luke, we can't take care of her. We can hardly take care of ourselves!"

"I'm Annabeth."

Luke and Thalia look at her as she scuffs her toe against some gravel. "We're not going to leave her alone," Luke murmurs softly. "Most monsters don't come after us until we hit puberty." Thalia waggles her eyebrows at him, but he ignores her. "Annabeth's seven. Why are there monsters after her?"

"So we travel together and add our demigod powers together to attain even higher levels monster-attraction. We'll be walking sandwich boards, screaming, '_Come eat us!_'"

Annabeth pipes up, "Strength in numbers."

Thalia glares at the seven year old with her shocking blue eyes, and Luke cringes for her. Annabeth doesn't flinch, though; she returns the electric gaze with equally stormy gray eyes. Luke is slightly disturbed by the sudden intensity displayed by such a young child, and he moves in between them.

"Annabeth," he says gently, lowering himself onto one knee in front of her so he can look at her eye-to-eye, "You are one of the smartest girls I have ever met." He shoots a teasing glance at Thalia and then turns back to the seven year old in front of him. "We are stronger when we stick together. Do you want to travel with us?"

Annabeth nods eagerly. Thalia kicks him in the tailbone, and Luke winces. "That's not very nice," Annabeth reprimands, prompting a scowl from Thalia.

Luke pulls a sheathed dagger from his belt. For a moment, he simply holds it in his hands, remembering. This was the dagger he stole from his mother's room last year. His first weapon, the slayer of many monsters up until the day he met Thalia. It was then that she'd given him a short sword, about a foot long, that she kept for backup. Since their meeting, Luke had not used the knife in combat. It had no reach and was only useful for direct stabs to weak spots during incredibly close combat. Annabeth had spent who knows how long wielding just a hammer; a celestial bronze dagger would definitely be a step up.

Annabeth's eyes rest on his face curiously as Luke presents his dagger to her. "I can tell," he grins, "that you're a very clever girl, Annabeth. You knew how to survive against all those monsters with just a hammer. Now this dagger is special; all you have to do is slice the monster, and poof! It's gone. But you have to wait for the right moment, when the enemy isn't expecting you, and get in reallllly close…" He leans all the way forward until their noses touch, and Annabeth flinches away, giggling. "…and then you slice 'em. A special knife like this can only be used effectively by a very clever girl. Do you think you can do it?"

Annabeth's gray eyes shine. "I know I can, Luke."

* * *

"Thalia, far left! Aim up!" Annabeth screams, and, though greasy black liquid obscures Thalia's vision, she throws her whole body to the left. For a moment, the tip of her spear wavers in empty air, and Thalia curses the seven year old for spatial misjudgment. But then she sinks deep into the massive monster, and the next second, monster dust explodes all over her, into her greasy hair and greasy eyes and into her nose and down her ratty shirt. She thinks she hears Luke cheering, but the dust adheres to the glop in her ears and shuts out any sound.

Luke runs over to Thalia, ready to slap her on the back in congratulations, but Annabeth shouts warning. "She can't see or hear us," the girl explains. "She might whack you over the head if you do anything violent."

Luke shoots an appreciative grin at the little blonde before taking off his sweater. Cautiously, he pushes the article of clothing into Thalia's arms, who jumps. Thalia taps the end of her spear three times against the ground, returning it to its Mace canister form, and accepts Luke's offering to wipe the gunk off her face. "Gods above, what the hell was that stuff?" she groans, her eyes still squeezed shut.

"Try to not lick your lips," Annabeth pipes in cheerfully. "Though your eyes are probably a lost cause. Can you see anything?"

"Everything's really fuzzy," Thalia replies, gripping Luke's shoulder for guidance.

Luke looks worried. "Maybe we should rinse them with running water?"

"Meh," Thalia groans. "I guess it's about time we took another bath anyways." Luke moves to assist her as if she was an elderly lady, but she slaps his hands away. "Don't think about it," she growls. "Just because I'm blind, doesn't give you an excuse to get all touchy-feely on me. I can still hear and feel."

The trio stumbles their way down a small creek. Annabeth directs them upstream from a runoff pipe spewing muddy water to a clearer area of the stream, and the children strip down to their underclothes and wade into the cool water.

Thalia disappears underwater for almost a whole minute. Then she explodes from the water next to Annabeth, sending the small girl screaming and laughing to hide behind Luke's back. Luke smirks at Thalia's sopping wet hair, slicked back so far that it almost appears as if she's bald. "Nice haircut," he taunts. "Maybe if you went around like that, people wouldn't chase us off their front lawns for looking like street kids."

"But we are street kids," Annabeth speaks up from behind Luke's back.

"They don't have to know that."

Thalia grimaces. "Doesn't matter how much I try to tame it; my hair just keeps popping straight up."

"Static electricity," Annabeth offers.

* * *

Luke braces his left hand against the flat of his blade and parries Thalia's swing. He then allows the weapon to slide off his blade, directing it towards the ground. As it plunges into the soft dirt, Luke stomps on it, swinging his sword towards Thalia's head. He's got her, fair and square; he could easily lop her head off, but he doesn't. He swings high, just over her head.

Lightning fast, Thalia ducks and drops her spear. Luke's foot drops with it, and, with his support gone, Luke loses his balance and falls forward. Thalia's fist buries itself deep in his gut as she sidesteps him; then her spear is back up and the spear point is pressed against the back of his neck.

"Gotcha," she smirks.

Luke reaches up and pushes Thalia's spear away. He smiles and doesn't say it. _I didn't want to hurt you._

* * *

The tiny pocket underneath the bridge protects them from the roar of rain and howling winds, but the wet tinder only offers up a tiny flame. The tin can of soup refuses to heat. The three of them huddle for warmth, and for once, Thalia doesn't criticize Luke's perversity as he hugs her closer, Annabeth curled out between them.

"She's finally asleep," Luke murmurs, pulling his threadbare jacket up over Thalia at the expense of exposing himself.

Thalia leers at him. "You're such a goob."

"We're family," Luke corrects without thinking. But as he thinks about it more, he finds that he really means it. "You, me, and Annabeth. We're family."

Thalia scowls, but she tucks her head into his chest.

* * *

"Shit—shoot, Thalia," Luke snaps as Thalia almost slices off his ear with her scissors. Dirty blonde hair falls away. "I need those."

"Technically," Annabeth drawls, doodling on a concrete wall with colored chalk, "The outer ears are only there to collect sound. You can hear fine without them."

Luke turns towards Annabeth indignantly, intending to argue, but his jaw drops. "What is that?" he gapes.

Thalia follows his gaze to Annabeth's drawing, and her eyebrows rise in amazement. "You just drew that in fifteen minutes?"

Annabeth begins to add topographic markings to the backyard, indicating a little hill next to the pond. "It's our home," she explains. "And this is where we'll build the tree house with a zipline to the second floor patio."

Thalia and Luke observe the precise markings sectioning off rooms on the first and second floor, then glance at each other. "Our house?"

Annabeth returns to her sketch, drawing perfectly straight blueprint lines. "We're family," she states matter-of-factly. "And what family doesn't have a home?"

* * *

Thalia screams as a huge tail knocks her flying. She hits the ground and rolls haphazardly, her limbs flailing at odd angles. She finally stops and tries to pull herself towards her spear ten feet away, but her right elbow gives way and she collapses. Slowly, the giant scorpion makes its way over to her, raising its tail for the finishing blow.

Luke jumps in front of her, his left hand against the flat of his blade. The force of the foot-long stinger drives Luke to his knees and causes the sharp blade to cut into his palm. Warm blood gushes out of the deep cut, running with black poison down his arm. Luke yells as his left arm is suddenly set on fire, and he prays to his father Hermes. Messenger of the gods, protector of travelers. He, Thalia, and Annabeth have been on the road for a year, and never has his father responded. But maybe now, as the pressure from the scorpion's stinger increases and the threat of death looms ever closer, as the flow of blood dripping down his arm and off his elbow intensifies and black spots play in his eyes from the venom, maybe now his father might save his son from certain death.

_Please save us,_ Luke pleads. _I have to protect them. Give me strength to fight this scorpion; give me strength to live on and protect Thalia and Annabeth. Please save us, Hermes._

For a moment, Luke truly believes that his father will heed him. Despite his previous silence during life and death encounters, maybe this time Hermes will respond.

His arms shake. The pressure increases. Thalia shuffles behind him, trying to move. Annabeth is nowhere to be seen; she's probably still hiding in the huge oak tree obediently, like Luke told her to do. The scorpion could easily withdraw its tail and trample the two children in front of it with its sharpened legs, but it seems intent on crushing Luke's body by simple brute force. And if Hermes doesn't intervene now, it will succeed in crushing not only Luke's body but also his spirit.

Something breaks inside him as the poisonous stinger breaks through his defense and buries itself in his shoulder.

* * *

_Author's Note_

_Wow, so I haven't touched this story in two years... and I never finished it! That's why I'm going through my "Old Stories" list and trying to at least wrap them up. Has my writing style changed much in two years?_


	4. Family

Thalia screams Luke goes rigid, with a foot-long scorpion stinger buried in his shoulder. The scorpion pauses and stiffens as well, preparing to inject the acidic venom that will dissolve its prey from inside out. Tears streaming down her face, Thalia jumps for her spear. Every joint and tendon and muscle screams in protest; something tears, but she doesn't feel the pain. She only feels the cool bronze of the handle of her weapon, and, with all of her strength, she uses it to pull herself upright. Her vision blurs and she wobbles unsteadily on her feet. She's got one shot to pierce the scorpion's shell, but her body refuses to cooperate. If she misses, Luke will die. Luke took the blow for her, but she can't return the favor. Luke will die in her stead, and then the scorpion will kill her and Luke's sacrifice will have been for nothing. Dark storm clouds form overhead, and Thalia can feel the electrons running down the length of her spear. Electricity hums in the air.

But for all her preparation, Thalia can't even see straight. She falters as her eyes graze her forearm. Little patches of burnt skin sizzle there. The venom splashed off Luke's blade and landed on her; she's been poisoned as well and her body is slowly shutting down. Her knees can't hold her body weight and all she can do is stare in horror as the scorpion prepares to kill Luke.

With a tiny scream of fury, Annabeth explodes from the underbrush and rushes the monster. The scream negates any element of surprise, but the scorpion is frozen in its preparation to inject. Within seconds, Annabeth has closed the distance between her and the base of the scorpion's tail. She stabs Luke's tiny knife into its soft underside and is enveloped in billowing golden dust instantly.

Thalia sinks to her knees and leans heavily on her spear. Her entire body feels like lead. Her last sight before she loses consciousness is of Annabeth racing towards them.

* * *

Luke wakes with a pounding head and numb extremities. The disappointment and anger that he felt upon his father's failure lingered around while he was unconscious, and now that he's awake again, they crash on top of him with even greater force.

He had been about to die, and even then Hermes had ignored him. Hermes had ignored him and his noble plea to save his family. His father didn't care. He didn't care that he had a son. He left his son alone with an insane woman. He turned his back on his son's prayers and refused to save him, even when he was on the verge of death by poison.

His mind is clear. His mind is clear enough to think bitter thoughts against his godly father. The poison had fogged up his mind and made his body feel like lead. How is he alive now? Did his father…?

He can't move, but it's not because of the poison's aftereffects. There are vines roped around his legs and torso, glowing green and diffusing warmth into his body. Soft music from a set of panpipes drifts over him, lulling him to sleep.

* * *

A tight pressure on Thalia's hand brings her back to consciousness. Annabeth. Thalia looks up into the girl's gray eyes, clouded with worry and hope. "How…?"

She's suddenly aware of a hundred sensations sliding away from her body. All sorts of vegetation that previously bound her to the ground shrinks back from her skin, creating a million tickling feelings. As Thalia sits up, she immediately feels the difference, both inside and outside. Her muscles stretch easily; her body immediately responds to her brain's commands; heart pumps boisterously. Even the burns on her arm are long gone, replaced by soft, new skin. Grass and curling vines slip off her bare skin as she sits up.

"What happened?" Thalia asks, but Annabeth shushes her and points. Four feet away, Luke's head sticks out from a gigantic cocoon of plant life. Tiny blades of grass adhere to his skin; thin trailing vines with budding white flowers run across his torso and push underneath his clothes; broad leaves poke out, bright green speckles dotting their surfaces. In fact, a general light green aura surrounds Luke, intensifying around his shoulder. And on top of this body-shaped bundle of flora sits a strange creature with the torso of a teenage boy and the extremely hairy legs of a goat. Tiny horns poke out of his mane of curly brown hair.

"Satyr," Annabeth murmurs softly. "Magical panpipes. Accelerated healing properties of plants."

Thalia wrinkles her nose and flexes her shoulder. "He found us?"

"My mom sent him," Annabeth states simply.

Thalia realizes that she's never inquired into Annabeth's parents. None of them ever asked each other about their pasts; their lives were already engrossed in their current life of adventure. "Who's your mom?"

Annabeth looks proud. "Athena, goddess of wisdom and strategy."

Thalia stretches her triceps. "So your mom figured it was wise to save our lives?" She scoffs, but immediately regrets the statement; she shouldn't assume her parent troubles are Annabeth's as well.

Annabeth looks aghast. "Of course!" she exclaims. "What good would it be to the gods if they just let their children die?"

Thalia bites back her bitter thoughts. Zeus was her father. The god of all the gods, ruler of the unlimited sky and the entire earth. And yet even he didn't bother to guide or watch over her. As an illegitimate child, she wasn't even supposed to exist. She and her brother weren't supposed to exist, and so of course Zeus/Jupiter had not stepped forward and intervened when Jason disappeared. Gods, he was only two, and their mother had simply allowed him to walk away with a stranger.

She remembers that day. She was nine. It had happened two years ago. It was a bright, sunny day; her mother had been relatively sober, and the entire family went to the park for a picnic. Jason wouldn't let go of her hand, but she pried his chubby fingers off and ran to grab the picnic basket forgotten in the car. Five minutes, and Jason was gone forever.

The sun kept shining. The blue skies were clear. Zeus didn't even notice that his son was mostly likely dead. And her mom didn't even call the police. That was the last straw—that her mother recovered within a day, having already convinced herself that letting her son go was the right thing to do.

Thalia ran away three weeks later.

Being a child of Zeus just left Thalia with a bigger, more attractive scent for monsters and absolutely no contact, let alone help, from the most powerful god of them all.

But she puts on a smile for the shocked eight-year old. "Yeah," she agrees. "Leaving us to die doesn't make any sense."

* * *

"Camp Half-Blood, huh," Luke mutters, rolling his shoulders. They're sitting in a clump of bushes Grover wove around them next to a river. Thalia stashed some medical supplies, an extra sleeping bag, non-perishable foods, and an extra flashlight, declaring it their fifth safe house. "And you're serious when you say there aren't any monsters there?"

The satyr, who introduced himself as Grover Underwood, nods his head so eagerly, the panpipes tied to his hairy waist bump up and down. "The border's enforced magically. Only magical beings can pass through, but nothing with harmful intent can enter the grounds."

"So this Camp Half-Blood is specifically for demigods," Luke states. "Why didn't our parents tell us about this?"

Grover looks nervous at the sudden rush of angry emotion in Luke's voice. "Um, well, Camp Half-Blood is only a summer camp, and most of the time demigods spend time with their families."

"But it's springtime right now," Annabeth contends. "So if the Camp is closed during the school year and only open during the summer, why are you telling us about it now?"

"I didn't say that," Grover says defensively. "There are some people who live there year round. People who are on the run, like you guys. If you'd let me finish my sentences, I would have told you that your parents probably wouldn't have told you until you became of age, and probably not until the Camp opened for summer camp."

Annabeth looks dissatisfied with the answer, but Thalia speaks up. "Where is this Camp Half-Blood?"

"Long Island, New York."

Luke smirks. "Actually, that's where we've been heading."

"Where have you been coming from?" Grover inquires.

"Wesport, Connecticut."

"Chicago."

"San Francisco."

Thalia and Luke gawk at Annabeth. "You came from California? But we found you in—"

"I rode a train," Annabeth says dismissively. "My dad gave me money."

"Your dad gave you money to run away?" Thalia questions.

Annabeth's cool façade breaks, and she looks down at her toes. "I was a danger to them."

Luke is instantly by her side, an arm curled around the girl's shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

Annabeth speaks in a tiny whisper. "Monsters attacked our house because of me. I argued with my parents. My stepmom called me a freak. My dad watched. Monsters attacked. We argued some more. Monsters broke my half-brother's leg. I left."

Grover looks appalled. "Your dad paid you to leave?"

Annabeth smiles at them all, her eyes dry. "We both knew that my mom was watching over me. She told me to travel east, and she guided Luke and Thalia to me."

Luke pulls her closer to him, and Thalia takes her hand. "But you aren't dangerous," Thalia soothes softly. "You saved us. Me and Luke. You killed that scorpion."

"You're part of our family now," Luke announces reassuringly. "Your family might have disappointed you, but no matter what, we'll always be with you."


	5. Step

Luke finally rounds the bend up the gravel driveway and spots his house. It looks exactly as it had four years ago, when he was nine and scared. White paint is still flaking off the walls. A makeshift rope swings sways gently from an apple tree full of tiny sour apples. Tiny mythical creature stuffies sit on the sides of the sidewalk leading up to the front porch, where a thousand wind chimes tinkle noisily in the breeze.

Has it really been that long?

He had absolutely no desire to come back. Well, maybe a little. Hot water would be nice, and food lying everywhere for you to eat. But the overwhelming disgust… and fear… that he holds for his crazy mother is enough to steer him clear of the house. So why is he back here again?

The tiny girl on his back bursts into another bout of coughing that leaves her gasping for breath. She clutches the back of his ratty jacket, each rattling breath flushing her pale white face with hot blood. She weakly leans to the side and spits a glob of thick yellow mucus, then returns to resting her head against his head.

That's why he's here; because it was 30 miles away when Annabeth began coughing up blood and Thalia got sick and Grover couldn't do anything. Since their first meeting, Grover has been unable to repeat the healing-plant-cocoon trick; he says he can't remember the song. The satyr had been playing from his soul when he'd found Luke and Thalia on the verge of death; he'd simply strung a bunch of musical patterns together from the strange music that had popped into his mind and continued to play until the music stopped. That song hadn't been scripted at all, and so Grover has no way of replaying the song.

With their magical panpipe option gone, Luke couldn't think of anywhere else to bring her without grownups interfering and pulling them apart. Any hospital would only see them as dirty, bedraggled kids, not as an incredibly tight-knit family who suffered and survived and triumphed and played together for a year and a half. If they went to the adults, he, Thalia, and Annabeth would be torn apart from each other within seconds and monsters would pick them off shortly afterwards.

Strength in numbers. Strength in family.

His old house was the closest to their current position. And although he had absolutely no desire to see his mother again, his desire to get help for Annabeth and Thalia was stronger. Thalia's stomach hurt constantly and she'd been unbelievably tired the past few days, and, though she didn't tell him, he knew she was bleeding and it scared the hell out of her. And him. They both had no idea what was happening.

His house looms in front of the three of them. He doesn't want to go in. He doesn't even want to step on the porch. But Annabeth whimpers, and he gains the resolve to take that first step.

* * *

After the initial outburst of joy, May Castellan acts as if Luke had never been absent from her home. She occasionally fusses over his "sudden" change in height when she shoves peanut butter cookies into his lap, and boasts to her reflections in the living room mirrors that she knew her son would eventually come back for lunch, but then she'll wander off and leave Luke alone for a couple hours. She never asks questions about where he's been, or what he's been doing, or anything about the two girls he's brought with him. She doesn't even bat an eye when Grover devours the tin cans in the recycling bin, as well as some of the front porch's wind chimes, and lopes off on goat legs to explore the expansive backyard. Annabeth is cleaned up and tucked into Luke's old bed, and May sets a perfect school lunch of PBJ sandwiches, peanut butter cookies, and Kool-Aid in front of them. Lunch materials sit around every available surface. A hundred perfect school lunches waiting for a nine-year old Luke to come back and retrieve them.

"_I'll—I'll be back for lunch."_

"_Okay, honey… I'll be waiting. I love you, Luke."_

Luke's face burns as Thalia stares at him questioningly. He can feel her asking the questions but holding them back, because he never asked her about her mom unless she opened up first. Luke still hasn't said anything explaining his mother's behavior, so Thalia holds her tongue. But still, he can read her expression.

He bites into the PBJ sandwich. It has just the right amount of peanut butter to balance out the extreme sugariness of the strawberry jelly. "She's insane."

Thalia cocks one of her eyebrows in a perfect _uh-huh_ gesture, but she doesn't say anything beyond that. Instead, she motions at the lunches all around them, each wrapped in its own plastic baggie; then she tastes a peanut butter cookie tentatively, and her face lights up. "These are really good!"

"I guess she's had a lot of practice since I've been gone." Luke chews slowly.

Thalia picks up on his reluctance to talk, so she settles for scanning the house. Her eyes roam across the kitchen to land on the windowsill above the sink, where a bunch of paper clippings plus an extra large photo are taped. "Hermes, huh?"

Luke's face darkens and Thalia falls silent again. Luke doesn't do moody and angry. It just doesn't fit his usually happy face.

"She tried to take on the Oracle."

Thalia looks back at him. Luke finishes his sandwich casually, not looking at her. "What's the Oracle?" she asks.

"The Spirit of Delphi, with the ability to see the future. She could see through the Mist already and saw a lot of things other people didn't. She believed she could take on the future as well." Luke swallows. "But there was a curse involved with the passing of bodies for the Oracle, and she didn't survive it intact."

"…intact?" Thalia questions apprehensively.

"Her consciousness was shattered. Past, present, future… it's all the same to her. She can't control where she stands."

"Is this why you ran away?" Thalia asks softly.

Luke nods. "She had fits. Most of the time she was here in the present, but sometimes she'd skip to what could have been the future, if the Oracle had possessed her."

"Possessed."

Luke shudders. "Every time she jumped ahead, she hurt herself. And as I got older, she hurt me."

Thalia looks horrified, but she continues to listen.

Luke washes down dry chocolate chip cookie with Kool-Aid. "It's because she saw me in the future. She saw my future more and more and it terrified her. She would try to protect me and hold me close, but her fingernails…" The thirteen year old grabs his shoulder instinctively and cringes.

Thalia leans over and gently pries his fingers away. Luke stiffens at the contact, but his fingers melt into hers a second afterwards. She waits.

"The episodes got longer, but she always said the same thing. Something about a horrible fate, and always begging Hermes to save me from it." His eyes flash angrily.

"You decide your own fate."

Luke glances at Thalia, snapped out of his dark thoughts. "What?"

"Screw the Spirit of Delfee or whatever. So what if your mom sees a creepy future in store for you? The future isn't set in stone." Thalia's voice is earnest. "You decide where you go and what you do. That's your future."

Luke contemplates this. His fingers rest in Thalia's palm, unmoving. After a long while, he asks unexpectedly, "So, what's your future?"

Thalia's surprised; she's not sure if she has an answer. "Um… beyond surviving all the monsters? Gee, I don't know. Following goat-boy to Camp Half-Blood… uh…"

Luke's back to being moody and stormy. "No, I mean, beyond that. How do I know what will happen to me in twenty years? Maybe I can decide what happens within the next hour, the next day, the next week or month. But I can't know the _future_. What happens beyond my immediate actions? I don't know that, but the Oracle does. What if—"

"Take it a step at a time," Thalia advises, squeezing his hand. "But watch your step."

* * *

Annabeth sleeps a lot. Luke checks up on her every once in a while, but Thalia can tell he still holds an extremely strong aversion for places that evoke strong memories. The bedroom closet. The kitchen table. He spends a lot of time sitting on the rope swing underneath the apple tree in the front yard, staring into the distance.

Thalia's not sure what to do with moody Luke. She wants the goofy one back, the happy kid who gave free piggy back rides to Annabeth and sometimes Thalia and once, both of them. She wants the protective big brother and the sparring partner she's not afraid to hurt and the best friend who makes her feel better and the boy that makes her feel funny and queasy and breathless with the occasional touch.

That last one is a new one. Thalia had never noticed it until now, until she had mentally laid out all the things she liked about Luke. She shoves that reason into the corner of her eleven-year old mind because it's too confusing to mull over right now.

She just knows that this Luke who stares off into the painful memories of his past and who walks around like a zombie all the time is not the Luke she knows. And it's because of this house, and the slightly insane mother who won't stop making amazing peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies. Not that Thalia's complaining; she hasn't eaten this many sugary, fatty confections in months. Not since she and Annabeth slipped into some random girl's birthday party in a park and stole four cupcakes.

Luke's mother is something. She's actually quite sweet, but Thalia has never been on the receiving end of the worries of a possessed mother. Ms. Castellan polishes the mirrors in the living room, humming a silly song and murmuring prayers to Hermes every once in a while. Thalia sits out on the porch swing amongst the wind chimes, watching Luke. Beside her, Grover practices on his pipes, blending the mellow notes with the tinkling of the chimes for a haphazard tumble of soft song. As long as Thalia ignores the individual notes, the overall sound tone blends together for a peaceful stream of music.

She's feeling a ton better now. Luke's mom was never in the right state of mind to answer her questions, but the internet told her all she needed to know and the bathroom yielded useful hygiene products. Thalia was thoroughly embarrassed that she had worried about it in the first place.

Annabeth's voice snakes its way out of Luke's bedroom, down the stairs, through the living room, and out the open window to Thalia's ear. "Thalia? Luke?"

* * *

"I'm going to miss this," Thalia says wistfully. When Luke shoots her a look that could peel paint, Thalia hastily elaborates, "I mean, the constant food and warm water and soft beds…"

"I don't know, I like our little safe houses," Luke interrupts dismissively. "Especially that one cave under the tree roots."

"Huddling like hibernating rabbits," Annabeth states, her breath only rattling slightly with excessive phlegm.

"It was warm with all of us in there," Luke defends.

Thalia's eyes twinkle. "I bet you only liked it because we all had to cuddle together in one sleeping bag."

Luke flushes red. "That was for warmth," he justifies. "Like hibernating rabbits."

"Thank gods it was winter then, and not springtime." Thalia winks at Luke and bursts out laughing as he blushes even more furiously.

"You wouldn't dare," Annabeth snarks, sipping her tea. "I always slept between you two."

Though his entire face is on fire in embarrassment, Luke flashes a happy smile at the both of them, a rare sight since coming back to his house. All their bags are packed with supplies, new clothes, survival gear. Grover assures them that Camp Half Blood is only 150 miles away, and the money taken from underneath Ms. Castellan's bed is enough to take all of them a third of the way there.

Thalia finds herself cheered by the return of Luke's dazzling smile. This is the Luke she knows and likes. He's finally back. Thalia will definitely miss the conveniences of the house, but she will gladly welcome Luke back.

The smile abruptly drops from Luke's face, startling Thalia. Automatically, Thalia's eyes follow Luke's gaze and her hand flies to the Mace canister in her pocket. Her senses are on high alert: a monster? Another giant scorpion? Or even worse, an intelligent being, like a Cyclops or one of those dragon serpent ladies?

A sleek motorcycle pulls into the driveway, throwing up dust and gravel. The driver sits up and slides off the vehicle, grasping his helmet and pulling. His black leather jacket pulls apart to reveal a thin gray T shirt with a caduceus printed on the front.

Then the helmet comes off, and Thalia sees salt-and-pepper hair, masculine features, and startling glacial blue eyes. She shivers as Luke's similarly ice blue eyes bore into those of his father's, and the air between crystallizes in frosty silence.

Hermes.

* * *

_A/N: I messed up the history a little; Grover doesn't join Luke's party until Hermes sends him along later. But the story just fell that way with Grover coming along after the scorpion attack. Thanks for the reviews, __**From-Cabin-Six **and **Miss. Alaneous**; there's some Thuke for you!_


	6. Father

Luke leans towards Thalia, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "Can you go get our stuff?"

"But… we're not leaving until tomorrow," Annabeth protests.

Thalia herds Annabeth and Grover along. "We'll just double check them," she assures, shooting a worried glance at Luke before hurrying into the house. The front door shuts, and Luke and Hermes are left alone on the front lawn.

"Dad."

Hermes holds his bike helmet in his hands, still staring silently at Luke.

Luke grinds his teeth. He's dreamed of this moment a thousand times. First were the happy reunions and the rejoicing as his father took him away from the hell that was home. Time passed and the reunion morphed into accusatory questions. _Why did you leave me with _her_? Why didn't you help her? Why didn't you help _me_? Why haven't you ever written, called, talked, or communicated with me? Why do you ignore me? Why haven't you ever answered my prayers? Do you even hear my prayers? Have you forgotten about me? Do I mean anything to you? Am I worth anything to you? Aren't I your son? Don't you care about me?_

_Do you love me?_

Instead, he can't say anything. He can't breathe.

His father looks exactly the same as he does in the wrinkled photo his mother keeps taped to the kitchen sink window. Strong, athletic, lean, cool.

"Luke," Hermes finally speaks.

The fact that Hermes remembers his name brings a little consolation. Perhaps his father hasn't forgotten him.

But then the alternate is even worse. Deliberate evasion? Choosing to ignore the prayers of his son?

"Why…" he grits out slowly, "Why show yourself now? All the years I've called to you, prayed for you to show up, and nothing." His entire body is tense, as if ready to leap into battle. "I almost died. So many times. My friends almost died. I prayed for your help and you didn't even answer. Why weren't you ever there?"

"I chose not to interfere with your path," Hermes asserts. "The children of the gods must find their own ways in order to find their greater strengths."

"So stranding me was for my own good. Growing up on the streets, barely scraping by, fighting monsters, fighting for my life and for my friends' lives, and all the time not knowing what I was really fighting for."

Hermes levels Luke with a confident gaze. "You're my son. I knew you had the ability to survive. Within minutes of my birth, I crawled out of my cradle and stole Apollo's—"

"I'm not a god!" Luke growls. "I'm just a human being and, as much as I try, I can't do everything on my own. Just once, you could have said something to keep me going. Just once, you could have intervened. You could have helped when _she_ was having a fit, shaking me and screaming about my fate." His face twists in pain as he unconsciously grabs his shoulder again. "When I used to hide in my closet so she wouldn't find me with those… those glowing eyes. Did you even care that I was terrified? Did you even know when I finally ran away?"

Hermes speaks slowly, as if trying to calm a spooked animal. "Luke, I care very much about you, but—"

"If you cared so much about me, then why didn't you listen all those times I almost died? When I pled with you to save my life so I could save Thalia and Annabeth?"

"Gods cannot interfere directly in mortal affairs," Hermes articulates. "It is one of our Ancient Laws; we gods cannot influence events of the mortal world. Especially when your fate…" Hermes' face twists as if remembering something unpleasant, and his gaze drops from Luke's eyes to his bike helmet.

"What?" Luke demands hotly. "What of my fate?"

"You shouldn't have come back here," Hermes mutters. "There is nothing here that you need to know. That satyr with you is guiding you to Camp Half-Blood, correct? Follow him there. It's the only place left for you."

Luke's thoughts spiral to his mother's possessed ramblings. She always called on Hermes during those times. Was it possible that Hermes knew what his mother was talking about? "What do you know about the prophecy?" he demands. "Do you know what's going to happen to me in twenty years? In ten? What's in my future?"

Hermes' head snaps up to meet Luke's gaze again. "My son, I am the god of travelers and the god of roads. If I know anything, I know that you must choose your own way and walk it with your own two feet. Your future is your own and no one else's; you must decide your own path, even though it tears my heart."

Luke almost laughs at this statement. He swallows it, but it leaves an incredibly bitter aftertaste behind. "Bullshit. You don't love me."

"I swear to you, Luke, I… I do love you. Who do you think put that song in the satyr's head that night? I created the lyre and the panpipes within the first five minutes of my birth."

Luke falters here. His father… helped him? Via Grover's impromptu music skills?

Hermes continues, "Follow the satyr to camp. I will see that you get a quest soon and become a great hero before…" Hermes' face twists in pain again, as if recalling bad memories.

"Before what?" Luke asks, and his voice trembles in apprehension now. "Before _what_? What does_ she_ see that makes her like this? What does she see in my future? You loved her, and what she saw when she tried to become the Oracle drove her insane. What's going to happen to me?" Hot tears are threatening to spill out of his eyes. "If you love me, Dad, tell me."

Hermes' expression is pained and tight. "I cannot."

"Then you don't fucking care!" Luke bellows, and Thalia cringes from her seat on the living room couch next to the open window.

Hermes drops his bike helmet and strides over to Luke, stopping three feet away. His aura radiates power, augmented by the god's turbulent emotional state. "I do care. I'm your father."

Luke steps away and glances at Thalia and Annabeth through the window. "Like hell you are," he seethes, facing Hermes again. "A father is supposed to stick around. I've never even met you until ten minutes ago. What am I supposed to feel for a wrinkled photo on the kitchen window? What kind of relationship can I form with a parental god if I've never heard his voice before? Am I supposed to feel gratitude and reverence simply because I'm your son and you're my father?"

The power washing over him forces him to look away. Hermes' features glow, as if something is boiling just underneath the surface of the god's skin. Luke has a feeling that maybe he should fear for his life, but he can't bring himself to care. His father knows what's going to happen but he can't violate a stupid god code, even if it means the death of one of his children. Luke forces himself to finish his tirade, even as Hermes glowers not three feet away.

"I don't think so," Luke rasps. He points to the kitchen, where a thousand lunches are piled and May Castellan is probably preparing the 1001st PBJ sandwich. "I don't need her. I don't need you. I have another family of my own, built of actual relationships shaped through time and hardship." He locks eyes with Thalia. "People who love me, and whom I love back. Hermes… you may be my father, but you're not my family." He walks away from his father, up towards the house. "Thalia! Annabeth! We're leaving!"

Thalia leads Annabeth out of the front door, all their bags slung over one shoulder. She shoots Hermes a fleeting look, begging for his forgiveness, but Hermes seems to be one of the more level-headed gods. He still looks ready to burst into true form at any moment and incinerate them all, but his face is so twisted in grief, Thalia almost pities him.

Luke takes the largest bag and storms away from Hermes, away from his old house, away from his old life. As Thalia, Annabeth, and Grover scramble behind him to catch up, May Castellan runs out the door. "Wait, Luke! Don't leave just yet, your lunch is ready!"

Luke doesn't reply; he doesn't look back. He walks down the driveway, one hand linked with Annabeth. Only Grover gives Hermes a pleading look, which Hermes replies telepathically. _Get Luke to Camp Half-Blood safely. And his friends._

Grover nods once and clip-clops away.

"No! Noooo! Luke!" May wails, tripping over her feet as she stumbles over the stuffies on the front lawn. Hermes catches her frail body in his arms, and she begins to shake uncontrollably. Her eyes glow an eerie green and a bright green mist appears to leak from between her lips as she croaks. She turns around and seizes Hermes' shoulders, her unclipped nails digging deep into the god's thick deltoids. "My son, Hermes… Danger! Oh, my son… Terrible fate!"

"I know, my love," Hermes replies sadly, as the dust from Grover's hooves settles, and Luke's dysfunctional, perfect family is gone from sight. "Believe me, I know."


	7. Bunny Fluff!

The hellhound yelps once before dissolving into monster dust. Thalia pulls her spear back into her body, then whirls around to take on the rest of the pack.

Except there is no pack. Where five hellhounds once stood, Luke now crouches, his sword still held in an extremely aggressive position that leaves his entire body open. It's the stance somebody extremely confident in their superiority would take. That, or an extremely angry, wrathful, moody, young demigod.

Grover and Annabeth emerge from the sidelines meekly. "That was amazing," Grover murmurs, his eyes peeled on Luke. "You didn't even get scratched."

"Hellhounds are hierarchal monsters and they know it when a top dog comes around to kick their butts," Annabeth grins, her eyes shining. "You were amazing, Luke."

"And incredibly rash," Thalia scoffs, slapping Luke upside the head. "Keep your sword crossed over your body. I could easily slip underneath your guard and impale you through the stomach, the way you're holding your sword now."

Luke offers a grim smirk. "You're only jealous because I slaughtered five while you took your time with one."

The next moment, Luke's on his back with Thalia sitting on top of him, pushing the shaft of her weapon into the soft flesh beneath his throat. The butt of her spear holds his sword on the ground. "Say that again?"

"Thalia!" Annabeth protests, tackling Thalia off Luke. She's a lot heavier than the seven year old, and they all just end up in a tangled mess of limbs on top of Luke. Then Luke rolls all of them over and Thalia ends up on bottom.

Luke laughs in Thalia's face, literally. "You're just jealous because I have an amazing partner-in-crime." He and Annabeth high-five. "Now what do you think we should do to her this time?"

* * *

"I'm pretty sure those berries are poisonous," Annabeth cautions as Thalia drops the hem of her loose sweater, dumping the tiny fruits out of the makeshift basket.

Thalia's nose wrinkles. "But they look like blueberries."

"Were the bushes' leaves rounded or spiky?"

"Spiky. I got poked so many times, so these better be edible," Thalia huffs.

"Sorry," Annabeth sighs, sitting back to tend their weak fire again. Heated water sits in a large tin can but refuses to boil. "Fakes. Grover might be able to eat them though."

Thalia laughs bitterly, wiping red berry juice on her hands onto the grass. "Goat-boy can stomach everything."

Annabeth frowns as she slips a couple more sap-covered branches into the fire. "He may be able to digest anything, but his stomach isn't very strong. He gets sick at the slightest gore."

"Scaredy-goat. Well, I'm sure he'll be able to tell which mushrooms are poisonous or not. Has he come back yet?"

As if in response, a bloodcurdling scream rises from a nearby grove of trees. Thalia and Annabeth don't even hesitate; they take off, crashing through low brush and wet leaves from last night's summer rain. Nearby, even louder trampling noise heralds Luke's passage through the forest.

Then Grover screams once, so loudly that his voice breaks at the end. Dead silence. Thalia and Annabeth crash into a small clearing; Thalia stops, incredibly confused, but Annabeth keeps running towards Luke. On the other side of the small meadow, Grover lies in a terrified heap.

Thalia goes to Grover first, kneeling down next to him. A trail of mushrooms stretches out behind him, leading to where Luke and Annabeth now stand in the knee-high grass. "Grover," she says urgently, shaking him. "It's alright. We're here. Tell me what happened."

Grover sits up, his entire body still trembling. "Ra-ra-ra-rab…"

"Rabid?" Thalia scans the area for animals foaming at the mouth. Nothing. Annabeth and Luke are still staring at a point on the ground. Annabeth's expression is full of horror; bewilderment is scrawled all over Luke's.

"What is it?" Thalia calls. "What's wrong?"

"It's a bunny," Annabeth murmurs faintly. "A bunny rabbit."

Luke abruptly dissolves into laughter. He braces his hands against his knees and chuckles until he's breathless; when he stands back up, he's holding two small, mangled animals by their necks. "It's dinner," he gasps at Thalia. "I stabbed us some dinner."

* * *

"Amazing, Luke," Thalia quips. "You absolutely destroyed these bunnies."

"I'll bet Grover is incredibly grateful for his valiant rescue," Annabeth giggles as she drops another strip of rabbit meat into their boiling tin.

"He'd better be," Luke grumbles. "I was ready for the freaking Minotaur when he screamed."

"But whatever was scaring Grover was like four inches tall," Annabeth objects. "You couldn't even see it above the grass."

Luke snorts. "When I got there, he just kept pointing and screaming. The grass was moving, I thought maybe it was a land serpent and kept hacking at it till it stopped moving."

"Damn straight," Thalia laughs. "Those fuzzy little bunnies died a blunt, bloody death thanks to you."

Annabeth is incredibly horrified at this statement. Her pretty gray eyes expand to the size of dinner plates. Thalia wants to bite her tongue, but Luke side-hugs Annabeth. "Luke: savior of Grover Underwood, slayer of bunny rabbits," he jokes, and Annabeth cracks a small grin as Luke smashes her face into his side.

"You're suffocating me," Annabeth mumbles into his shirt.

"You like it, kiddo," he grins, and Thalia takes the opportunity to tackle both of them into the ground.

* * *

It's a perfect summer's night. Not quite midsummer, because it's still June, but it's warm enough to sleep on the grass outside of their safehouse. Annabeth's content to just stare at the stars, tracing out the constellations in her mind's eye. Luke says that he can't see anything; to him, it's just a random scatter of pinpoints of light. Thalia's father is ruler of the sky and she says she can't see anything either. But Annabeth sees each collection of stars as if they were truly the characters they're named after. The Gemini twins and sons of Dionysus, Castor and Pollux. Orion with his glittering belt of three stars barely visible on one side of the sky, forever fleeing from the curling tail of Scorpio on the other side. Even the streamlined Draco twisting around everything else, representing the dragon which guarded the Garden of Hesperides.

On the hill above her, Grover practices his pipes. Still as terrible as ever. He constantly switches between putting too much air behind the note, causing it to sputter and waver, and not putting enough. In addition, he doesn't appear to remembering any songs; he just puts out whatever comes to his head, playing random notes.

Luke pokes his head out. "Grover," he hisses. "You're going to wake Annabeth up!"

"But I'm trying to put her to sleep," Grover whispers back. "See? She's not moving!"

Annabeth closes her eyes and remains still. Grover's been teased enough by both Thalia and Luke for his extreme leporiphobia—or "bunny phobia", as Thalia's calling it now.

There's a skeptical silence as Luke checks for signs of movement. Annabeth holds perfectly still, like a hibernating rabbit hidden deep underneath tree roots where large blunt objects can't beat her to death.

Yes, Thalia's statement has affected her more than she lets on. Annabeth knows it's ridiculous, but that experience in the meadow was the first time she's been around when the meat hasn't been isolated from the animal yet. Those bunnies were completely whole and their unblinking, glassy, empty eyes scared her on a totally different level. Grover is terrified of bunnies because of previous traumatic experiences: according to the satyr, a lair of large jackrabbits had kicked him silly when he was younger. That, and the small mammals continued to compete with him over the years for vegetation. But Annabeth's just scared because… well, it was her first look at death.

Blank, empty eyes in a face frozen with final fear.

Luke disappears back inside the safehouse and Grover resumes his terrible music. Annabeth relaxes a bit longer, but her ears perk when Thalia and Luke begin talking.

"She's asleep," Luke whispers.

"You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Now what did you want to tell me?"

Annabeth strains her ears; if Thalia wanted to insure that Annabeth was asleep before telling Luke something, then Annabeth _has_ to know what it is. She only wishes she could see their facial expressions, because Thalia doesn't say anything for a while.

Finally, she murmurs, "You don't have to prove anything."

Stunned silence. "Huh?"

"We've been traveling together for over a year, Luke. Maybe six months with Annabeth. We've all been through a lot and we already know you."

"Yeah? And I know you pretty well too. Like how you never wash your hair—that's how you get it to stand up like that."

A smack sounds as Thalia socks him on the shoulder. Luke yelps. "Ow! Unnecessary."

"You hate green beans," Thalia counters.

"_Canned_ green beans. Big difference."

"You always scrape them onto Grover's plate."

"He likes them."

"He'll eat anything; you shouldn't take advantage of him like that."

Above Annabeth, Grover chuckles.

"You like strawberries," Luke declares.

"I… How did you know?"

"You told me. When we slipped into that berry farm and stuffed ourselves on blackberries. You said you would have preferred strawberries." Some springs creak; Luke must be sprawled on the couch they lugged all the way over from a dumpster. "Well, here's some good news: Grover told me that Camp Half-Blood grows strawberries for a living."

"Really?" Thalia can't contain the excitement in her voice. "You think we'll be able to stuff ourselves on strawberries there?"

"Maybe. Once we get there." Luke sighs. "What will we _do_ when we're there? It seems like my entire life has just been fighting monsters."

"You've got us. We're family, right? And we'll always stick together. We'll still be together at Camp Half-Blood: you, me, and Annabeth."

Annabeth tries to imagine her life at in a camp. Grover keeps advertising it as they transport themselves over to New York, mostly by walking. Their pockets are completely devoid of money and the monster attacks are becoming incredibly frequent now, but Grover continues to promise great things about their destination, like food magically appearing out of thin air, a forest filled with ancient trees and nymph guardians, a canoeing lake, and cabins full of campers _exactly _like them: half-god, half-mortal. Annabeth has been alone for so long, alienated from her father and stepmother, that she welcomed Luke and Thalia's makeshift family unit; and now another opportunity has arisen to be part of something larger. Annabeth can't wait for Camp Half-Blood.

Luke, on the other hand, doesn't sound so enthusiastic about going to a camp controlled by the gods. "Yeah, sure… there'll be more of us there."

"Say what?"

"More children of the gods, like us. Except they'll all probably be from families who've actually taken care of them, and they don't mind that their godly parent is off banging another—"

He stops suddenly—probably Thalia calming him down by touching his arm or something. A couple moments pass before Thalia speaks. "We're family, Luke. You promised Annabeth. And you promised me. "We're your family too and we… I…" Another pause. "I care about you, Luke. So we're… I'm here for you, if you ever need… um, anyone."

Silence; then springs creak as Luke leans forward. "I care about you too, Thalia. And Annabeth. You both mean a lot to me."

Thalia's voice is muffled; Luke's probably hugging her. "Mrmph… we didn't turn out to be such bad parents after all, huh?"

"What?"

"Annabeth's not dead or screwed up or anything. She's smarter than the both of us plus Grover combined. When we first met her, I seriously thought she'd be in the way, or we'd get her killed."

More springs creaking. Annabeth shifts slowly, enough that she can roll her eyes and see her two friends through the top of her eyelashes. They're lying down, platonically curled into each other; there's still a space between them, just enough for Annabeth to squeeze into if she wanted to. But then they probably would discontinue releasing tidbits of blackmail material, so she restrains herself and continues to eavesdrop.

Luke laughs. "You're a great older sister."

Thalia doesn't say anything for a while. Memories? Annabeth remembers Thalia saying she once had a younger brother. Blonde, like Annabeth; but he was a toddler, and Thalia considered Annabeth as a sister.

"You're not too bad yourself," Thalia mutters. "Just as long as you don't drag us into another unnecessary monster fight."

The impatient child in Annabeth finally breaks through; she rolls to her knees, runs up to the safehouse entrance, and jumps heavily onto Luke and Thalia, who both grunt loudly in surprise. Before either can protest, she's snuggled her way in between both of them. "I love you guys too."

And between the two warm bodies, Annabeth quickly drifts off to sleep—missing the frantic look her friends exchange over her head.

* * *

_A fluffy Thuke chapter... because the previous and the next chapters all deal with heavy stuff, and it's not like Luke-Thalia-Annabeth crashed from one disaster to the next, right? They had to have some down time and fun times in between unfortunate events... which unfortunately, happen all the time. So here's some happy stuff, and the rest from here on out is suffering - because that is the fate of half of on-the-road demigods. Someone might not make it..._


	8. Unnecessary

"Luke, we don't—"

Luke charges anyways, as if not hearing Thalia's words. Even in the shadow of the alleyway, Thalia can sense the tempting beauty of the demoness before them. Grover bleats in worry, whimpering one word: "empousa". The monster snarls in the darkness, her slightly illuminated beautiful features twisted in obvious bloodlust. "Yes, come to me, little boy… I will show you what lust really is."

The anger burning in Luke's mind overpowers the alluring scent of lilacs and warm bunny fur. The peaceful, calming aroma tries to sneak behind his defenses and lure him into dopey hypnosis, but he crushes it mercilessly. Nothing's going to hold him back.

"Luke!" Annabeth screams at a glint of streetlamp light off metal.

The spear comes suddenly, but not fast enough. Luke sidesteps the weapon as it barely skims his left side; then he actually grabs the handle of the weapon and forces the tip into the ground. The sudden stop in momentum travels down to the empousa, jerking her forward. She tries to draw her weapon back in, but Luke raises his foot and stomps on the handle. To her credit, the monster doesn't drop her weapon, but Luke just uses the thin handle as a platform to propel himself into the air. Roaring in fury, he brings the sword into a rash overhead position, holding the hilt with both hands while exposing his entire body.

The lightless night makes it hard for Thalia to see anything, but her breath lodges in her throat as the empousa drops her spear and reaches for a long dark spike strapped to her gleaming bronze leg. With quick, animal-like reflexes, she jabs the sharp weapon at Luke's chest.

Luke's sword cleaves her head in half first. She doesn't even have the opportunity to scream before her body has been severed messily in half all the way down her diaphragm. One side of her loose, primitive dress slips off a deteriorating shoulder, exposing a firm, bronze breast. Then her entire form explodes into off-white monster dust.

Annabeth breaks away from Thalia's restraining arms and runs to Luke. He rises from his crouch, eyes still blazing with revenge. Before he can rise to his full height, though, Annabeth leaps and latches around his neck. Luke freezes as she mumbles into his neck, "That wasn't very smart."

"What?"

Thalia strides up to him angrily. Luke looks up at her unapologetically, almost defiantly, still half-crouched with Annabeth's arms around his neck. He's already begun his growth spurt, and Annabeth is barely on her tiptoes trying to hug him.

Thalia taps Annabeth on the shoulder, prompting the younger girl to drop off reluctantly. As soon as she steps back, out of range, Thalia slaps Luke across the face, hard. "She said that wasn't freaking smart, Luke!" she yells. "The hell do you think you're doing? It's nine at night; we're out of money and haven't had lunch or dinner yet, the nearest safehouse is still a mile away and suddenly you disappear down a dark alley without even a word to any of us! What the hell, Luke! At least tell us before you throw yourself into stupid situations like this!"

"There was a monster," Luke mutters, rubbing his cheek. They've already had this conversation before. Several times before, actually. "A possible threat—"

"Bull," Thalia growls. "She was so far away, I'm surprised you were able to sense her rooting through garbage. She didn't even know we were here; she was surprised when you approached her."

"Maybe—"

"And above everything, this is possibly the worst place to fight. We're at the bottom of a dead end alley. There's five hundred feet of narrow brick wall separating us from open freedom. What if she has friends around?" She begins dragging Annabeth towards the mouth of the alleyway. "Com'on, we're at a huge disadvantage here."

"Wise words, this girl," purrs a seductive voice from above. "Daughter of Athena, perhaps?"

Luke, Thalia, and Grover look upward simultaneously. On the rooftops above them, two more empousai leer possessively. The silver moonlight spills stark beauty on their pasty skin and bright red eyes. One holds a small flame between the claws in her right palm; her bright orange hair also appears to be burning without deteriorating. The other has straight black hair swept over one shoulder, and without hesitation, she jumps off the roof and lands catlike in the alley, separating them from the street. Both of her middle fingers' claws are twice as long as the others, extending like daggers attached her hands.

Still crouched predatorily, the second empousa glances over Thalia and Annabeth cursorily. "Pretty girls," she lilts, using the tip of her right dagger-claw to flip her silky black hair over one shoulder. The wind carries a scent of fresh rain and sleepy puppies through Thalia and Annabeth towards Luke. Thalia gags when the scent washes through her; it smells like wet dogs.

Annabeth murmurs something, and Thalia glances down at the blonde girl. Her eyes are closed and she mumbles quickly under her breath. Praying to her mother? Thalia almost scoffs, pulling out her Mace canister. In a flash of blinding light, the tiny stick has telescoped into her familiar six-foot spear.

The empousa in front of them pouts, trying to look past them at Luke. She looks upwards and calls to the first demoness. "Lauren, dear?"

"What is it, Jin?"

"Keep them out my hair, m'kay?"

Lauren visibly rolls her eyes. "As you wish."

"No!" Annabeth screams, darting towards Luke at the same time Lauren rakes her left hand across the air. A curtain of flames explodes into being and drops between Luke and Thalia. Thalia's scream doesn't make it out of her throat as the descending inferno threatens to crush Annabeth's tiny form, but then the child somehow manages to squeeze past before flames hide her and Luke from view.

Grover falls to his furry knees and covers his eyes as Jin leaps overhead, straight through the towering flames. Thalia moves to follow, but a fireball liquefies the asphalt in front of her. Literally molten concrete smolders in a little crater two feet in front of Thalia.

"Sorry, sweetie," Lauren cackles from above. "I wouldn't advise you to jump through that; Jin's been burned so many times that she doesn't feel the pain anymore, but I wouldn't assume the same for you." The constant fire in her palm casts her beautiful features into stark contrast. At her command, the curtain of fire explodes upwards, cutting off the entire alley and bursting into the night sky. Thalia and Grover are knocked backwards and scramble back a couple feet. Screams echo in Thalia's ears as mortals are alerted to the fire.

And on the other side of that curtain, Annabeth is defenseless. The seven year old only has Luke's old knife on her, a close range weapon that could stab directly into a large but slow monster but could not stand a chance against an incredibly smart, humanoid demoness. And Luke now is wild and unrestrained and likely to hurt himself or Annabeth as much as kill another monster.

Meanwhile, Lauren is completely out of reach twelve feet above them on a rooftop. Thalia could try to nail the empousa with her spear, but she'd only have one shot and the angle she'd have to throw at is terrible as is. In desperation, Thalia glances up into the clear night sky. The moon is bright and full, but the stars' dim lights are hidden by the roaring flames. There are no clouds, no indication of Zeus' rule, but Thalia finds herself praying to her silent father. _Please. Just this once, grant me the power to save my friends._

Grover bleats a warning, and Thalia is startled out of her plea for help to spot a fireball bearing down on her. She's noticed it too late, but, on nimble hooves, Grover leaps in front of her and beats off the fireball with a large metal trash can. By the light of the fireball, which smashes in a brick wall and continues to burn, Thalia makes out bite marks around the edge of the lid. "Were you just eating that?" she asks curiously.

Grover suddenly looks abashed. "I, uh, eat when I'm nervous."

"Which is all the time?"

Lauren screeches, sending another fireball at them. Grover punches his metal lid into the oncoming projectile, disintegrating it into molten lava that splashes around them. He then winces and drops the makeshift shield, which is glowing red. "Ow. Hot."

"Come down here and fight me like you're not afraid to die!" Thalia yells, brandishing her spear. Meanwhile, Grover grabs his panpipes and begins to play frantically. The soft, hollow music is incongruous with the flaming wreckage around them. And the string of notes trying to be music is so terribly contrived that even Lauren winces. Thalia doesn't miss a beat; she just ignores the individual notes, letting the general feel meld with the crackling flames for a soothing flow of sound.

Seeing Thalia so unaffected by the satyr's horrific music prompts Lauren to pretend like she doesn't die a little on the inside. "Frankly, no," Lauren retorts. "I know what you're thinking, daughter of Athena. I know it too; jumping down there would put us on equal footing, but I can incinerate you to ashes just fine up here without getting my claws dirty." She clicks her claws against each other wickedly, then rakes them across empty air. Little waves of fire roll off her hand and dance forward in two wide-spreading fronts.

Thalia grabs Grover, who appears to be concentrating so hard on his song that he doesn't even notice the impending fiery doom. The spaces between the bouncing tongues of fire are extremely tight, but they're enough to work with. Despite her father never directly intervening, the weapon he's provided her with does come with some of the perks of the ruler of the sky. Thalia has been able to manipulate air movements on a small scale for about six months now, a skill that was never really useful in monster fights. Still, using her spear like a giant baton, she's able to send out a shearing wind so forceful that it cuts the oncoming fireballs in half horizontally. The second wave flickers as scattered wind pummels it, but it doesn't go out.

Grover toots loudly on his panpipes, putting so much breath behind it that the note actually breaks and flutters harshly. At that instant, a tiny dandelion weakly pushing through a crack in the pavement expands so suddenly that it knocks Thalia over. Within seconds, a water-filled green stalk about twelve inches thick and fifteen feet tall takes the flame headed for Thalia and neutralizes it. The smell of burning sap fills Thalia's nostrils.

"What the hell was that?" Thalia splutters, thoroughly bewildered.

"It's a giant dandelion," Grover says helpfully. The significantly weakened, slightly charred stem sags underneath the weight of its colossal, bushy yellow head; with a groan, the sunshine-colored flower falls towards Lauren. The empousa rakes at it viciously with her fiery claws, sending wave after wave of cutting flame to slice-and-dice the flower. Oversized petals curl in the heat and sprinkle the alley with shriveled flora the size of large peacock feathers.

By the time Lauren has finished shredding Grover's enormous dandelion, she's panting fiercely. "By Tartarus," the demoness puffs, bracing herself against her knees. The air doesn't smell so much like warm kittens now and instead smells like burnt weeds and fresh-cut flowers. Literally. "Was that… all you've got?"

Thalia glances at Grover, who appears to be slightly dazed. Composing herself, she returns to the matter at hand. "Face it, Lauren," she shouts. "You and Jin are dead meat."

"Is that so?" Lauren laughs, and she waves her left hand. The curtain dividing her and Luke flickers, and an opening suddenly presents itself. It's large enough for Thalia to fit through, but the curtain appears to be three feet thick. There's no way she could dive through the wall of fire without being disabled in some way.

And then Thalia focuses on what's on the other side of the window. Annabeth. Sprawled on the ground. Dark liquid glistens on her forehead and runs over her face. In front of her, Luke parries the other empousa's double strike with difficulty. The other empousa is too skilled and coordinated; she appears to be ambidextrous, parrying and striking with both dagger-claws. They really are extensions of her body, after all. She fights so naturally. Thalia foresees the move before it happens, but she has no way of communicating it to Luke. Jin catches Luke's sword, redirecting it while sliding her other claw underneath Luke's guard.

Luke flinches when Jin buries her claw into his left shoulder, but he lunges at Jin's head with his sword anyways. He meant to take the wound, Thalia realizes; a rash move with a slim chance that it would provide him the leverage to take off his opponent's head. Jin's too quick for him though; she ducks, and Luke only manages to slice off a chunk of fine black hair. Her right middle claw still embedded in Luke's shoulder, and when she drops, she drags Luke down onto his knees. Even now, her left claw is caught on Luke's handguard, preventing him from attacking. Luke's right arm flops uselessly at his side, so he tries to kick out at the demoness holding him down. The move is fairly useless and just makes him lose his balance and crash onto his back with the empousa on top of him. Jin says something, inaudible through the crackling firewall. The aroma of spring rain mixed with warm puppy fuzz and fresh human blood pulses through the air as Jin bares her pointed fangs and leans in for Luke's neck.

* * *

_A/N: The Greeks didn't call it Tragedy for nothing..._


	9. Kiss

Thalia screams with raw anger. Her words blend into unintelligible curses as Lauren snaps the tunnel in the firewall closed, cutting Thalia off from Luke. From her position on the rooftop, Lauren leers unmercifully down at Grover and Thalia.

"Not so tough now," Lauren derides. "Now burn in Hades, daughter of Athena."

Grover takes several steps back as the air around Thalia crackles with energy. "Eat your own words," she says softly and dangerously, aiming her spear for Lauren's chest. "And Athena is not my parent." The moon disappears behind a single dark cloud as Thalia screams, "To my father, Zeus!"

A single bolt of lightning arcs from the single black cloud, striking the end of Thalia's spear. It races up the length of the bronze weapon until it reaches the head, where it gathers and builds. Lauren's eyes widen and she tries to back away from the edge of the roof, but the thunder explodes off Thalia's spear in a concentrated bolt followed by an unavoidable shockwave. The empousa's strangled yell is cut short as the bolt finds its true mark, beaming a hole straight into Lauren's chest. Her electrocuted hair stands out in all directions, still flaming but also throwing off stray static. Then the wall of electricity slams into her body, causing Lauren the empousa to dissolve into dust and the dust to be incinerated to fine ash that dissipates on the wind.

Thalia drops to one knee, suddenly drained of all energy. Grover catches her before she can face-plant into the shriveled dandelion petals scattered everywhere. He flips her onto her back while cradling her against his goat legs. "Thalia!" he shouts over the roar of the firewall, which is beginning to die down. "Thalia! Luke and Annabeth need our help!"

She can barely hold onto consciousness, and she can tell by the weariness in Grover's voice that he's having trouble too. Both of them exhausted almost all their energy fighting that one empousa. Her mind is so befuddled that she almost laughs at the memory: Grover significantly weakened Lauren with a mutant dandelion. A freaking fifteen foot tall dandelion. What kind of goat-boy is Grover, anyways?

These are Thalia's last thoughts before she blacks out.

* * *

Luke struggles weakly against the empousa on top of him. He can't move his left arm, but his shoulder emanates paralyzing pain from the long, dagger-like claw embedded there. The empousa's other claw pins his sword to the ground and he doesn't have the strength to pry his hand free. His legs are trapped between the empousa's strange legs; one is made entirely of flexible bronze and the other of shaggy fur, much like Grover's leg. Either way, he's been disabled.

Annabeth stirs three feet away, whimpering. Jin, the empousa, had gone for her first; she'd seen Luke's protective streak and used that to her full advantage. She hadn't anticipated Luke resisting her seductive allure and not even failing when she sliced his leg, but she quickly overpowered him through sheer swordplay alone. The empousa knew how to handle her dagger-claws; they were literally an extension of her body, stretching from her middle fingers.

He's never been this close to an empousa before. He's always separated their heads from their bodies at this point. Now she's hovering only six inches away, her face hauntingly beautiful through the haze of pain clouding Luke's vision. Some traitorous fourteen-year old part of him is attracted to the perfectly straight black hair that falls in layered sheets around her shoulders. It contrasts with her pale white skin; Jin's cheeks appear rosy and warm, but that probably because there's a huge wall of fire roaring not five feet away. Not that Luke isn't actively moving, he realizes that the tiny box of alleyway they're trapped in is akin to an oven. Heat shimmers around them; Luke is sweating buckets, but Jin's complexion remains cool and dry. Only her dark red eyes change, shimmering with burning desire. Luke is almost overwhelmed by the strange magic weaving through both of their intimately positioned bodies.

"Tasha was useless to me," the fair-skinned, raven-haired monster crouched over him purrs, referring to the first empousa Luke had cut down not fifteen minutes ago. "She had no experience at all, and you cut down like the dead weight she was. Now let _me_ show you what true lust really is."

She twists her head sideways as she lowers herself onto his body sensuously. Luke gasps in surprise/pain/pleasure as her supple body molds into his and her lips land on the tender skin of his throat. A numbness blossoms from the point of contact, but he can still feel the pressure of two pinpoints just beginning to pierce his flesh.

Jin's head whips up abruptly. Luke's head rolls to the left. Annabeth stands, trembling. Blood has crusted over half her face, and a section of her blonde curls are bent at an awkward angle and plastered to the side of her head from the dried liquid. She clutches her dagger in both hands, and Jin's left claw is hooked on the tiny handguard.

"Run, Annabeth," Luke croaks. At the same time, he knows such a command is absolutely useless; they're caged on three sides by twelve-foot brick walls and the fourth by a huge fire barrier. Thalia's right; caging them in was a terrible tactical error. Not that anybody could have known that the single empousa he'd sensed had friends backing her up. The monsters he'd encountered so far usually traveled alone, plus they were usually dim-witted or vaguely intelligent. Serpent women were the most intelligent beings Luke and Thalia had defeated so far.

But stronger enemies attacked them now. And this empousa was the strongest of them all.

Annabeth holds her position for maybe three seconds, tops. Then, with a single flick of her finger, Jin knocks Annabeth's knife from her hands and slashes her little fingers for good measure. Annabeth doesn't even cry; she just stumbles back, staring at her bloody hands in shock. Then, for good measure, Jin rolls off Luke's body, pulling her right claw from Luke's left shoulder with a sickening squelch, and drives it into Annabeth's left shoulder.

This time the girl screams. The sound is horrible; nobody that young should ever produce such a sound, and yet it echoes in Luke's ears and drives him insane. He only wanted to protect his family. He only wanted to—no. That isn't it. Thalia's voice echoes clear in his head.

_We're hungry and tired and we need to get back to the safehouse. Why do we keep stopping for monsters?_

_I told you to run! You can't just throw yourself into every dangerous situation that comes your way!_

_Luke… please don't hurt yourself._

_What the hell were you thinking? Thank the gods you're still alive, because that was the stupidest charge I've ever seen in my entire life._

_LUKE!_

_There's no way in Hades that we're "running on ahead"! We're family, Luke. You said so yourself. We're not going to ditch you to fight monsters alone._

_Luke… please… you can't keep doing this. Please, for me. For Annabeth._

He didn't come down this alleyway and slay that first empousa because he wanted to protect Annabeth and Thalia. That's what he tried to convince himself, to justify his rash behavior in attacking every monster he sensed for the past five weeks. But that was obviously, painfully not the case now.

Annabeth chokes. She has trouble drawing another breath. Tears stream down her little face, tracks shining in the fire. Her entire body sags around Jin's claw; she keeps herself upright, but only because crumpling to her knees would require movement of the wound with the weapon still planted within. Blood oozes through her ratty sweater, staining the dirty pink material a dark crimson. "Luke…" she sobs. "Luke…"

Luke forces himself to his feet. His left shoulder protests, but the blood spilling out of Annabeth's forces him to ignore the pain. He holds his sword with his right hand, but his entire body shakes.

He almost wants to fall to his knees and curl up in a ball. Why does he insist on dragging Thalia and Annabeth into these situations? They always turn out alright. He always fights through them and comes out triumphant, and every wound and scar is yet another trophy to carry around for the life of his life, proving… what? What is he trying to prove?

His own strength. His independence. Even now, as his left arm hangs useless by his side and his Annabeth, the little soul he's been trying to protect, stands broken in front of him, Luke has not even thought about praying to his father. His first life-and-death situation where he hasn't turned to Hermes in the end, because he knows his father won't come through. Maybe Hermes will push another healing song into Grover's head, but that's assuming they survive this encounter. He doesn't know how Thalia and Grover are faring on the other side of the firewall, but only a miracle will be able to save himself and Annabeth from certain death.

Jin smiles at the pain obvious in Luke's eyes. "Prime that adrenaline," she purrs. "Get those hormones racing… fill your blood with the most delicious flavorings possible, because I am going to suck it dry from your body."

No doubt she will. He hasn't been able to even touch her with his sword—otherwise she'd be dust. But she's almost killed him. He has no hope now. His own strength is unable to stand up to this newest monster. Luke tried to prove to his father that he doesn't need him, that he can kill every monster that stands before him and that he doesn't need the help of the gods.

And now the gods are spitting in his face.

Luke hefts his sword, pointing it at Jin. The empousa's grin grows even wider, exhibiting all of her jagged teeth. "Come here, boy," she whispers. "Give me a kiss."

Luke screams. He charges. The world slows down. Jin viciously rips her claw from Annabeth and tosses her to the ground. She charges, both claws crossed in front of her as her immaculate black hair fans out around her shoulders. Luke doesn't even think; he just brings his sword straight down, right into the pocket formed by Jin's crossed dagger-claws. She grins maniacally and uncrosses her claws swiftly, throwing Luke's sword into the air while slashing both sharp edges across Luke's now exposed torso. The pain doesn't even register with Luke as he flies backwards, propelled by the force that Jin exerted when she cut him doubly. He looks down, almost surprised to see two bloody, horizontal gashes in his chest through the tears in his clothing.

He's going to die.

Luke crashes to the ground, completely paralyzed. His brain has overloaded on so many sensory signals that he can't even think. The horror that he dragged Thalia and Grover and Annabeth into all of this overwhelms him the most. Fifteen feet away lies the evidence of this. He hurt Annabeth. He _killed_ Annabeth by dragging her into this. He just as well told her to kill herself, because she and Thalia would always follow him and never leave him behind, and Annabeth has little combat skill. He killed Annabeth, just to prove that he didn't need the gods.

Jin steps on his crotch, but Luke only feels a slight pressure. She leans down over him, her hair falling around both their two heads and shutting out the light from the fire. Just black curtains framing a beautiful, demonic face. He's going to die. Annabeth is going to die. Thalia and Grover are going to die, just because he had to prove his worth. But he will remain defiant to the end. He will stare death in the face, even as it comes to give him the kiss of death.

A sudden bump protrudes from Jin's forehead. It mars her perfect face and breaks the spell over Luke. He blinks as Jin gasps once. Then she vanishes into white monster dust, leaving behind only a lingering scream.

Something lands on his body. Luke glances downward: a silver arrow, almost pulsing with life in the midnight moonlight. Seconds later, the dust clears away and reveals a young girl in a silver parka standing before him; another arrow has already been notched into her bow.

"Boys," she snarls in contempt.

* * *

_A/N: Fun fact - Jin and Lauren are both named after people I know. Jin is Asian; Lauren is a stereotypical redhead all the way :)_


	10. Left Behind

He's alive.

Thalia brushes Luke's scruffy blonde hair away from his face. When he's sleeping, Luke looks so much like that happy boy she met so many years ago. It's only when he wakes up that dark resentment makes its way into his facial expressions, completely hiding all his former excitement.

A Huntress—Phoebe, Thalia remembers—walks up behind her. "This is the boy who thought he could take on three empousae at once?" she sneers roughly. "You girls are lucky that we Huntresses happened to be tracking those monsters at the same time. Jin and Lauren have killed at least thirteen demigods already; you didn't stand a chance."

"Thanks," Thalia murmurs, her fingertips brushing against Luke's mostly healed shoulder. Only a large pink scar of shiny new skin is present where a bloody hole used to be. One of the empousa had pierced a hole through his _entire_ body—and had done the same to Annabeth as well. "Thank you for healing them."

Phoebe snorts. "For the younger girl, gladly. This idiot—"

"Phoebe, that is enough," another girl growls. Tall, with flowing, silky black hair and graceful movements even when just walking, the Lieutenant of Artemis' Hunters just exudes royal power. Phoebe immediately shuts up and steps to the side, inclining her head. Thalia stands her ground next to Luke's bed.

"Thalia," Zoe speaks. "Hath thou considered my offer?"

Oh yeah. That. Join the group of Hunters that travel all across the world, who serve Artemis for eternity by hunting monsters and living off the natural land. Run free, without ties to a background. Human, demigod, nymph—it doesn't matter what you are, only whom you will serve.

And Thalia has really thought about it for the past couple days. Her father has never intervened to save her life. He didn't appear when Jason was kidnapped and probably killed; he's hardly helped her during battle (apart for charging her spear with electricity). She doesn't know what he looks like or what he sounds like. He's her father and she's his daughter—a gift, it would seem, to be so closely related to the god of all the gods and goddesses—but more often than not, Thalia feels like Zeus is her curse. He's the reason why so many monsters are attracted to her. He's the reason why she's alone in this world, without a caring father, without a comforting mother, without a younger brother. So in the end, Thalia doesn't really care that she'd be abandoning his namesake by joining Artemis' ranks. He may have been her father by name, but never by truth. Besides, she built a family for herself, one that didn't include him. Luke and Annabeth—they're her family.

They're the reason why she isn't alone.

"I can't," she replies simply.

Zoe's expression doesn't waver, even as, behind her, Phoebe's face flushes red in rage. Calmly, Zoe says, "Do not worry about thy friends. If thou should choose to join the Huntresses, thou hath my word that we shall escort thy friends to Camp Half-Blood first."

Thalia nods; Zoe's said this before. "Thanks," she repeats again, "But no thanks. I meant it when I said I can't become a Huntress."

Phoebe can't hold her words in. "It's because of this foolish boy, isn't it," she snarls. "You can't—"

Zoe simply turns her head and nails Phoebe with a menacing glare; even Thalia flinches at the Lieutenant's smoldering intensity. "I thank thee for thy healing attendance to this unfortunate boy," she hisses. "Could thou goest and check the younger female?"

Phoebe slinks away.

Once the angry Huntress has disappeared from the tent, Zoe faces Thalia again. "What are thy reasons for refusing the service to a goddess?" Zoe asks, and Thalia doesn't miss the hard glint in her tone. Zoe may not condone Phoebe's harshness, but as Artemis' right-hand woman, even she is irritated at Thalia's rejection.

Thalia braces herself. She knew right off the bat, from the moment she regained consciousness, that all the girls in the Huntresses' camp despised males. Some of the younger girls—one looked even younger than Annabeth—muttered insults at Grover as he devoured grass and aluminum cans. (Though he has to pull that mysterious dandelion-expanding magic out of somewhere. Environmentally-friendly food is Thalia's best guess.)

But _he _is the one reason holding Thalia back from joining Artemis' Huntresses. Their purposes in life are to serve the goddess, join her in the hunt, and to abstain from men for the rest of their eternal lives. Thalia knows that she could spend the rest of her life fulfilling the first two; Zeus means nothing to her, and Thalia would _love_ to spend her time ridding the world of dangerous monsters—like those three empousae.

But the third requirement… she can't do. She's only known Luke for two years, but she doesn't know what she'd do without him. Without him to watch her back; without him to carry Annabeth around; without his care for her. She's spent every day with him and Annabeth: traversing the countryside while following Grover to this magical Camp Half-Blood where their lives will be ten times easier. Hunting for food, cooking the food, dumping the food into the river when Annabeth scolds them for gathering poisonous materials. Fighting monsters in the forest, or in the streets, once in a McDonald's. Splashing through rivers, washing themselves with stolen soap. Cleaning their weapons with old clothes. Fishing through garbage dumps for clothes or shoes or cooking pots. Sleeping under the stars, or in the warmth of a safehouse. His arms wrapped around her body, sharing their warmth, as Annabeth lies curled between them. Luke is the only boy Thalia will ever sleep with—it's because she knows him so well and trusts him so much.

Thalia can't live without him. She's saved his life so many times, and he's done the same for her. (He's also endangered her and Annabeth's lives just as many times—but then again, she has her own share of stupid mistakes.)

Not that he need to hear all of this though. Thalia brushes past Zoe on her way towards the exit. "Let's talk somewhere else."

Zoe complies, following Thalia a ways away from the Huntresses' camp. When Thalia finally turns away, Zoe looks like she's at the end of her patience. "Thou must have a very, _very_ important reason for—"

"Luke," Thalia states firmly. "I can't leave him."

"Thalia, thou art a strong girl. Daughter of Zeus or not, thou dost not need his assistance or support. Thou can support thyself—"

"I know that," Thalia snaps back. "I don't need Luke. I _want_ him." She quickly revises, "Him and Annabeth. They're my family."

Zoe ignores her corrections, latching onto her original sentence. "Thou _desires _him?" she sneers. "Thou _desires _that boy? Phoebe may not have the strength of will to control her tongue, but she speaks the truth. That _boy_—that foolish boy who charges into battles without thinking twice—he was willing to risk that small girl's life just so he could fight a 'worthy' monster! That alone shows that he truly doesn't care for what thou imagines to be a family, that he values a hotheaded fight above—"

"He made a mistake!" Thalia interrupts fiercely, even though Zoe's nailed the problem right on the head. "He made a stupid mistake—"

"One that almost killed thee!"

"Well dammit, and as demigods with parents who don't even care about us, that doesn't happen all the time?" Thalia retorts. "The only reason why we haven't died yet is _because_ we've stuck together! He's saved our lives more than my father ever has. He's my family and I'm not going to leave him."

Zoe closes her eyes and sucks in a huge breath, then blows it out slowly. When she opens her eyes again, she looks a bit calmer. "Perhaps thy makeshift familial bond ties thee to him much closer than I thought," she says softly, and Thalia doesn't like the assumed implications behind her statement. (Never mind that they might be true; Thalia just doesn't appreciate the gossipy rumor aspect of Zoe's assumption.) "But even that is something that thou can value from afar. Artemis only requires that her fellow Huntresses abstain from physical relationships and the mind-consuming lust that usually accompanies or stems from it. Respect from afar, even friendship—" Zoe's face twists in disgust, as if this is an extremely unusual (and horrific) case, "—is acceptable."

Thalia doesn't even hesitate. Zoe's pushing her into a corner—does she consider Luke to be a family member or close friend, a person that she can continue to contact over a long distance? Or does she…

"I love him," she declares. "And that's why I can't leave him."

Zoe's calm expression instantly vaporizes as fury bubbles to the surface. "Stupid girl," she hisses. "Thou hast already been consumed by his alluring temptation. All men—they are only senseless beings without thought for anybody else. Even thy Luke—he may seem to support thee. He may seem to fight for thee." The usually controlled Lieutenant has completely lost her graceful, smooth restraint, and in its place is a raging storm of emotion. "He may even seem to love thee, to declare loyalty to thee. But when disaster and destruction arises, ultimately it will be thee that he leaves behind." Zoe's eyes snap with enraged passion. "All men will desert thee, Thalia. One day, when thou hast put all thy hopes on Luke, he will shrug off thy devotion and walk away. He will let you down."

"No," Thalia shoots back. "I don't know how long you've lived, Zoe, or what terrible things you've seen men do. But I've entrusted Luke to my life for the past two years and so has he. We've traveled across the country and fought monsters the entire way—three demigods together will do that. But in all our fights, he never let me down willingly. The only times he wasn't around to help me or Annabeth was because he was already unconscious, or poisoned, or bleeding to death. He's done that for us and we've done that for him, all so we can get to Camp Half-Blood. So we can finally be together without having to fight for our lives every step of the way. I'm not going to stop now. I'm not going to leave them." Thalia turns around and heads back towards camp, effectively ending the conversation.

"Thou will regret this, Thalia," Zoe shouts after her. "I have lived for two thousand years. I have seen civilizations rise and fall and crumble and disappear, all under the faithlessness of men. I have seen families torn apart in seconds, romantic bonds dissolved, lovers kill each other in jealousy and lust. The road thou chooses is a narrow pathway surrounded by poisonous treachery and ending in stagnant failure. Even the strongest of heroes will leave thee behind, Thalia. Remember my words, and remember this opportunity—to run free without the constraints of men, under the care of the lady Artemis."

She snaps her fingers, and within seconds, the Huntresses have packed up the entire camp. Only one tent remains set up, with Luke, Annabeth, and Grover inside. One of the girls grudgingly shows Thalia how to pack the large silver tent within a case the size of a pack of chewing gum—and then she is gone as well.

Thalia stands alone on the grassy plains outside the city, almost regretting turning down the offer.

But she's not alone. Luke and Annabeth are inside, and Thalia immediately reconfirms that she can't live without them. Silently, she enters the tent.

Grover baas quietly. "Are they gone?" he whimpers.

Thalia doesn't answer. She just slips her arms underneath Annabeth's limp body and transfers her to Luke's bed. She nudges Luke over, and, out of pure habit, he unconsciously shuffles to the side so that Thalia can also slip in, squishing Annabeth's tiny body between theirs. It's a tight fit, but they'll make it work.

Thalia pulls Luke's head closer to hers and rests her forehead against his. Normally, she isn't the touchy one; he is. But after being confronted with the idea that she might not see him for the rest of her life, she wants to cherish these moments. Their tight-knit family moments—gathering food, fighting monsters, sleeping in the same tight spaces.

Luke and Annabeth—they're her family. And she won't leave them for the world.

* * *

_Author's Note: For those who don't remember, Zoe Nightshade was a Hesperide who helped Hercules infiltrate the Garden of the Hesperide and steal the apples by tricking her father, Atlas. In return, he ditched her and claimed that he completed the task independently, leaving her alone with her angry sisters and father. She was banished and has since then hated Hercules and all men like him - men who claim to be heroes, yet ultimately betray all those who trust them in order to elevate themselves._

_After a couple sentences of replacing "you" and "your" with "thou/thee" and "thy", I adapted and began replacing them naturally, without a lot of thinking. Funny._


	11. Path

"We're lost."

"No we're not! I know where we're going!"

"Of course you know where we're _going_… But do you know where we _are_?" Annabeth furrows her eyebrows. "We've passed this tree before."

"How can you tell? All these trees look the same!"

"Grover, you're a satyr. Aren't you supposed to have a special connection to the forest? Besides, I marked the tree." Annabeth points at some toilet paper wrapped around a low branch. "See?"

Grover scrunches his face. With no comeback readily available, he finally whines, "Fine! We're lost! Just you try keeping track of where we're going when a pack of hellhounds are chasing you!"

"It's okay," Luke intervenes. "I wasn't keeping track either."

Annabeth folds her arms stubbornly. "There's no point when the blind is leading the blind. At least, we should stop running in circles and run away from the hellhound pack _in a straight line_."

A week ago, and bunch of hellhounds began tracking them down. Luke and Thalia took out the first couple groups, but when the earth itself tore open and burped out a couple angry feather-shooting black ravens and a furious giant scorpion, even Luke didn't stick around to fight. They just ran. Grover even tried playing terrible music in an effort to chase them away.

If anything, it make Thalia knock him over the head in irritation a mile later as soon as they were safe—they jumped from a bridge onto a barge and hid underneath scrap metal until they were sure all the angry birds were gone. The feathers they shot weren't as sharp as knives, but they still hurt, like little rubber bullets.

"No doubt," Thalia had said then, as they curled underneath the hard metal surfaces. "Those monsters were from Hades. And Hades is probably not happy that Zeus broke the oath and popped out me."

"Hades wants to kill you?" Luke had hissed in anger. "You can't be serious. It's not like we don't already have angry monsters tailing us everywhere."

It was true. Before, they'd only kill monsters when their paths happened to cross. Now, though, the monsters have been actively hunting them down.

They'd hopped off the barge yesterday and have been wandering about the forest since. They all trusted their satyr guide, but after a full day of aimless meandering up and down a couple stony hills, Annabeth had had enough.

Thalia agrees with her. "Okay, goat guy," she smirks. "How 'bout we find a city? You can orient yourself there, and we'll head to Camp Half-Blood after that. Instead of wandering next to the river."

"I'm not wandering!" Grover insists. "I'm a guide! A recruiter. It's my job to find and protect demigods—"

"…With panpipes," Thalia snarks.

"I'm working on that," Grover grumbles.

"He's saved us before," Luke defends helpfully.

Grover nods. "And it's my job to guide you guys to Camp Half-Blood. That's the part where I study the geography of America, so I can make sure I get you there as quickly as possible."

"So remind me why we're lost," Thalia says flatly.

"We're not lost! Okay, we sort of are. No, what I'm saying is, I don't know where we are specifically, but I know that somewhere in all these hills, there's a valley that leads right in the direction of camp. If we could just find it, _then_ we could walk in a straight line there."

"So your plan is to keep walking up and down these hills till you find your magic valley pass," Annabeth interjects.

"…Yeah."

"Okay, we're going to the city," Thalia decides.

* * *

"Oh my gods," Thalia breathes. "We're almost there."

They're 50 miles away from New York. So close to Long Island—where Camp Half-Blood is. After two years of wandering the countryside and following Grover—they're almost where the magical Camp Half-Blood. At this point, Thalia doesn't really care what will happen when she gets there; all she wants to do is keep her spear hidden in her pocket as a Mace canister and be able to take a nap with Luke and Annabeth, at the same time, without somebody on watch, ready to wake them at a moment's notice should another pack of monsters arrive.

She's tired. She's just so tired. Weeks of running, fighting, and running some more. Maybe a little bit of sleeping. Eating. There's not as much time to hunt for meat anymore, so they've been living off the veggies Grover pulls out of the ground with his magical panpipe music (and what if the plants that snake out of hiding want to strangle them to death? Food is food), as well as cheap junk food stowed in their packs.

Maybe it's the lack of meat that makes Thalia feel so tired all the time.

And suddenly, 50 miles doesn't seem so close anymore. Not when they're this tired. Not when they don't have any form of transportation there. No barge floating down the river, no money for the taxi to drive them there… maybe they could hitchhike, but Thalia's worried about Annabeth.

"Com'on, guys," Luke stands up and stretches, bouncing with energy. "We're almost there! We just need to—"

"Walk 50 miles?" Thalia deadpans. "How are we going to do that?"

"We don't need to," Luke grins, and in the distance, a train whistles.

* * *

Annabeth does not appreciate being tossed into a moving train car like a sack of potatoes, but she wasn't tall enough.

Thalia's in the car, ready to catch her, but when Luke heaves her in, he doesn't really aim for Thalia. As a result, Annabeth completely misses her friend and rolls across the wooden floor, gaining about a million splinters. "Ouch!"

Grover leaps lithely onto the metal railing, and a moment later, Luke swings up next to him. Not a second too soon, because, as soon as the train clears the corner and straightens out, it begins to speed up again.

"I'm sorry, Annabeth," Luke apologizes as they all pluck wooden slivers out of her arms. "I didn't know the floor was so spiky."

Annabeth pouts, but Luke just looks so sorry that she can't stay mad at him for long. "It's okay," she says finally, then squeals as Luke wraps a tanned arm around her body and squeezes her hard. "Luke! That hurts!"

"It's a hug," Luke smiles. "And only the best hugs hurt."

Was that a challenge? Annabeth responds by hugging him back as hard as she can—which is difficult because his body is so hard and there's not a lot of stuff she can squish. Luke pretends to gasp for air anyways, laughing—until Thalia joins on his other side and compresses his chest so hard that he really _does_ lose his breath.

* * *

Brooklyn is every bit as noisy as Chicago was, Thalia recalls. Except there are TONS of people in Brooklyn. So many streets and sidewalks and alleyways, eventually Thalia gives up and just follows Grover around. Never mind that the satyr's gotten them lost a couple times; she figures that New York is the guy's home turf. They're in New York, on Long Island. Camp Half-Blood is only a couple of miles away.

Their journey is almost over.

They're browsing through a convenience store—Grover withdrew some golden drachmas from a special ATM machine the moment they entered New York, and they bought some new stuff at a special store for demigods: a new T-shirt for Luke, some larger shoes for Annabeth and Thalia. Now they're getting food from another one of those special stores, Grover says. Thalia's just floored that a place even recognizes that demigods exist.

"Thalia?" Luke calls. "Can you come over here?"

Thalia glances around the store, surprised; Luke had accompanied Grover for another errand, leaving the girls to pick out food. She's surprised they came back so fast. "Where are you? Did Grover really choose something that quickly?"

"I'm down the hallway. And no, Grover isn't here. I got a special deal with the store keeper. It's for you." Luke's voice is bright with excitement, and Thalia eagerly follows the sound down a short hallway. There's an open door leading into a dark room, which instantly puts Thalia on the alert. What's Luke doing in the storeroom of a store they've never been to? Now that she really thinks about it, there are so many things wrong with her current scenario. Luke would never ditch Grover—he's their satyr guide, and only he knows where Camp Half-Blood is. And Luke coming back and surprising her with a random gift is so improbable; they've never had the money to spend on things not related to immediate survival. Even Luke's voice didn't quite sound right—as if he had marbles in his mouth.

The awe at being in a large city again, plus the excitement at being so close to Camp Half-Blood, a heavenly safety, and her extreme tiredness—it all makes for one very stupid Thalia.

Too late, she realizes this. Before she can pull back and exhibit the right amount of caution, something shoots out of the dark storeroom and wraps around her ankle. She's standing too close to the door. She instantly reaches into her pocket, her hand pulling the Mace canister out—but before she activate it, the whip around her ankle yanks her into the room so suddenly, she collapses. Her head hits the floor hard and she's knocked unconscious instantly.

* * *

After waiting in line at the public restroom, Annabeth finally relieves herself and steps outside. It much be the lunch hour now; she'd waited in line for almost 20 minutes. She wonders if Thalia's bought all the food already.

She walks down the street to the convenience store that Grover showed them before running off with Luke. As she approaches it, she spots movement behind the store, where a delivery truck is parked in front of the loading dock. A huge man is shoving boxes into the back of the truck. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Delivery trucks bring stuff to the store.

The man turns around and Annabeth's heart stops. The man only has one eye—right in the middle of his forehead. A Cyclops.

Annabeth hides, her fingers clutching the bronze dagger in her pocket. After a couple scary minutes, though, she relaxes—and then tenses up again when the truck rumbles out from behind the store and onto the street.

The huge one-eyed man drives the car down the street. Frightened, Annabeth shrinks against the concrete wall as if trying to dissolve within, but she doesn't have to worry. The delivery truck, engraved with the company name "Monocle Motors", flashes past without pausing for her, and the Cyclops soon disappears around a corner.

A Cyclops. A real, huge, strong Cyclops. She has to warn Thalia—the store is run by Cyclops. Grover directed them to the wrong store. The stupid satyr—he got them lost in the countryside plenty of times, but this is his city! Shouldn't he know where everything is, especially stores owned by monsters that want to kill them?

Annabeth darts into the store, screaming Thalia's name. So what if there's another Cyclops running the cashier in the store—it doesn't matter, they need to get out of here as soon as possible. Seconds later, though, she realizes that the store is completely empty. No cashier at the counter, all the lights have been turned off—though the room's still illuminated by sunlight streaming in through the windows. A flash of gold catches her eye.

Annabeth leans down and picks up the small Mace container. There's no way that Thalia would drop it without knowing about it; it's her weapon. Only she can activate it, and it shrinks back into its compact form whenever she wills it… or if she's separated from it by more than a hundred feet.

Thalia's weapon would never be isolated from her. Not unless somebody took it forcibly away from her. But Annabeth found it on the ground… which means that somebody forcibly took _Thalia_ away from her weapon.

The Cyclops.

Annabeth backs up until she hits a wall before she allows her legs to collapse. She slides down onto the ground, her mind whirling with possibilities. Killed? No. Please no. Annabeth wills her eight-year old mind not to enter panic mode as she glances around the store. No signs of a scuffle or blood. Maybe the Cyclops surprised her and grabbed her before she could pull out her spear.

Kidnapped then? That Cyclops had been loading things into the truck. Maybe he wanted to take Thalia to another place where there were fewer witnesses. Annabeth's noticed that monsters attack them all the time when they're in the countryside; not so much in the cities. The Mist usually hides things from mortals, but monsters still prefer to hunt outside of civilization.

With the blessed guidance of her mother, Annabeth steps outside, Thalia's deactivated spear held tight in her palm. Athena will show her the way. Athena brought her all the way to Ohio from California, and Athena brought Luke and Thalia to her. Now, Thalia's been kidnapped and Luke and Grover are nowhere to be seen… but Annabeth knows that they will be brought back together again. They have to. They're all going to reach Camp Half-Blood safely.

Otherwise, what was the point of bringing them together in the first place?

* * *

Mount Olympus is in a state of chaos. Athena is stuck in the middle of it all—the goddess of wisdom and strategy, she must decide how to maneuver her inexperienced daughter out of this complicated situation.

Luke, son of Hermes—possible enemy of the gods, for the Oracle had predicted a dark fate for him. Thalia, daughter of Zeus—after Zeus swore an oath with his two brothers, Hades and Poseidon, not to sire demigod children. After all, the Oracle had predicted that one of their half-blooded children would cause the demise or the salvation of Mount Olympus.

And now Zeus has betrayed his brothers by conceiving not one but _two_ children. Hera knew instantly, and hid away the youngest child; but Hades only discovered Thalia three weeks ago, when she called on the power of lightning during a fight with empousae. The powerful energy rippled throughout the entire Earth, notifying both Hades and Poseidon of Zeus' demigod. Hades, enraged at Zeus' deceit, now seeks to kill the girl in repayment of Zeus' attempt to kill his own children—Nico and Bianca—fifty years ago.

Despite the controversy surrounding Luke, son of Hermes, and Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Athena cannot deny that those two children were amongst the strongest demigods alive on the planet—and the children closest to and most likely to protect her youngest, most vulnerable daughter. Luke especially, with his compassion at heart and desire for a familial sort of love; and Thalia, with a tough and rough exterior but a similar desire to form a familial bonds. Providing a caring, protective family for Annabeth would be the wisest course of action. But their presence around Annabeth was also her greatest danger—because one day, those two children would bear burdens beyond their capacity to handle.

Now, with Annabeth so close Camp Half-Blood, Athena does nothing when the Cyclops lures Thalia and Luke into a trap by mimicking the other's voice: imitating Luke to call Thalia into a dark storeroom, and imitating Thalia to lure Luke down a deserted alleyway. The foolish young satyr accompanies Luke cluelessly and is captured as well. Annabeth has now been given the chance to create her own path, to proceed onward without a bleak future to hinder her. Strategically, allowing both Luke and Thalia to die would eliminate future threats.

That is all Athena can do. If she intervenes, her child will not learn anything. Her child will not be able to bear future burdens, gain experience from pain, and strategize later in her life. Athena will let Annabeth make her own decision—proceed to Camp Half-Blood, or pursue her friends and their deadly futures.

* * *

_Author's Rant: __This chapter assumes that warriors must train properly before they are able to psychically recall their weapons. Thus Thalia wasn't able to recall her spear after her kidnapping. Plus I just needed something to alert Annabeth to the situation. _


	12. Promise

_If I were a Cyclops, where would I take Thalia?_

Annabeth walks down the sidewalk alone. Most of the people ignore her, even pushing past her in their hurry to get somewhere. They've only been in New York City for a couple hours, and Annabeth already has the impression that NYC is always moving. It probably never sleeps. Everybody has to do something _right now_ or they'll die.

And so will Thalia, Luke, and Grover, if Annabeth doesn't find them.

Annabeth waited next to the Cyclop's store for almost an hour. Grover had said that they were running a short errand and would be back in half an hour max. She waited; it would be much more efficient if Luke were to help her search for Thalia, and she could think about where this Cyclops would imprison her friend.

Cyclops are really strong, as Annabeth recalls from Greek mythology books. They're best known for their blacksmithing skills; they were the ones who constructed Zeus' rod of lightning in the first place. (They're also known for fighting/eating demigods, which only makes Annabeth walk faster.) So she just has to find a mechanics or weapons factory. Or just some site that constructs electrical objects.

After an hour, Annabeth set off by herself. Luke and Grover would not leave her and Thalia alone that long unless they got involved in another monster fight. Maybe the same monster that kidnapped Thalia encountered them as well. Either way, Annabeth has to save Thalia.

_Please, Athena,_ Annabeth prays silently. _Lead me the right direction._

It was this prayer that guided her all the way from San Francisco, California, to Lima, Ohio. It was her mother who pushed Luke and Thalia at her for her protection—and then Grover, who healed them and continues to lead them to Camp Half-Blood. Now a Cyclops has kidnapped Thalia, and Luke and Grover, and Annabeth fully intends to rescue all of them.

Annabeth doesn't even consider that her mother might have split her up from Luke and Thalia on purpose.

* * *

Monocle Motors. That's where she's headed: a car manufacturing plant two miles north from her current position. If only she didn't have to walk there. If only she could hitch a ride on a taxi or something.

Annabeth's jaw drops when, in a blast of smoke, a taxi materializes next to her.

The driver who rolls down the window is definitely not human. Or maybe she was, back in the old days; she and the two women sitting next to her have pale gray skin and scraggly gray hair. The driver has one eye—her sisters have none. The single eye sets Annabeth's alarm bells ringing—it's just like the Cyclops—but then her brain pops out the answer to her question.

The three women are the Gray Sisters. One eye, one tooth, three sisters.

"Chariot of Damnation, going to Camp Half-Blood," the driver cackles, her gray iris glancing over Annabeth's form.

One of the sisters leans forward and smacks the driver on the head. "Give me the eye, Wasp! I want to see this Annabeth!"

Annabeth blinks. "I haven't told my name."

Wasp slaps her sister back. "Quiet, Tempest!"

The third sister leans forward. "Get in the car, girl. We don't have all day."

A magic taxi that literally popped out of midair to transport her to Camp Half-Blood—is this something Athena sent her? Then why didn't the… the Chariot of Damnation… arrive when Luke and Thalia were here? Or is her mother trying to tell her something?

No. Her mother brought Luke and Thalia to her. There's no way her mother would try to separate her from them when she brought them to her in the first place.

"Take me to Monocle Motors," Annabeth says.

"Annabeth, we were specifically instructed to take you to Camp Half-Blood," Tempest replies, and is promptly slapped by her adjacent sisters.

"Shut up!"

"Stop hitting me!" In anger, Tempest socks Wasp in the head so hard, her eyeball pops out of its socket, flying out the window and landing on the street with a wet splat.

Annabeth seizes her chance, picking up the large eyeball (with only a bit of revulsion). It's slimy and gross and about the size of a tennis ball. Now that it's not sitting in a sister's head anymore, the pupil doesn't move around; it just stares blankly ahead.

"I have your eye," Annabeth yells. "Now take me to Monocle Motors!"

"Stupid girl!" Wasp screeches. "Give us our eye!"

"Not unless you drive me to Monocle Motors!" An idea pops into her head. "This is a taxi, right?"

"It's called the Chariot of Damnation, dammit! Give us the eye!"

Annabeth continues, "I don't have any golden drachmas on me to pay for a ride, but I have something you want even more. Take me to Monocle Motors."

"Annabeth," the third sister shrieks. "We will not wait for you after we drop you off. You must call for our services after this with a golden drachma."

Annabeth doesn't have any; Thalia and Grover had been carrying all of them. But she doesn't have any time to waste. "Alright," she agrees reluctantly, hopping in the back of the taxi… erm, Chariot of Damnation… and passing the cold eyeball back to the sisters.

The third sister snatches it up first, squeezing it into her eye socket. "Ooooh, that's good," she moans, before Wasp punches her. The loose eyeball pops out, bounces against the glass window, and lands in the driver's hand; she immediately squishes it into her own eye socket.

"Anger! I'm the driver!" she cackles, slamming on the gas pedal. The taxi launches forward, right over the curb and down the sidewalk. Annabeth is thrown to the ground as the car squeals around a corner, ignoring a red light and barely escaping the path of a bus.

It's the most terrifying ride of her life.

* * *

Hot. Steamy. Burnt.

Luke blinks. He can't move his arms or legs and it feels like his mouth is full of… something. His vision is blurry. He feels like his mind isn't quite working, but, if there's one sense that is currently active, it's smell.

He smells food. Not good food—it smells like the time Thalia cooked a skunk without first removing its scent glands.

Well speak of Hades: she's sitting next to him, her entire body wrapped in cloth and ropes, still unconscious.

Oh.

His consciousness slams right back into him full force. He's been wrapped up like a mummy, with what looks like a bedsheet wrapped multiple times around his body and secured with rope. In addition, his hands are tied behind his back and he's gagged with cloth that tastes terrible. They're lying on wooden scaffolding in the middle of a huge shed with dirty metal walls and lots of abandoned machinery lying around. In front of them is a huge container that bubbles and pops with disgusting smelling liquid.

That's as much as he can observe; he can't exactly remember how he got here, but his head throbs as if somebody thunked him over the head with a rock.

Or a club—the one that the huge Cyclops is carrying as he walks around the room. Luke squints at it—it's hard reorienting himself because he feels like his head is going to _explode_. It hurts so much, Luke feels like he just might die before the Cyclops gets around to killing them.

They're going to die.

Thalia.

Luke tries to mumble past the cloth in his mouth, but the most he can do is squeeze out an unintelligible grunt. He inch-worms his way over, which shakes the entire scaffolding; each wiggle generates a sharp stab on pain to the injury on his head, and it feels like the rope binding his wrists together tears skin off with each movement. He nudges her body frantically, trying to wake her up.

Footsteps echo as the Cyclops shuffles over and crouches down next to them—twenty feet tall, with rippling muscles and a huge eye in the middle of his forehead. "Good, you're awake," he grins, the pupil of his one eye dilating in happiness. "I've just finished spicing up the soup. I haven't had good meat in about a year or so."

Luke flinches—the Cyclops is using his _father's_ voice. No, not his father. Hermes. But it is so similar to the messenger god's voice that Luke can't help but recall his conflict with his father at his home, not six months ago.

"_What's going to happen to me? If you love me, Dad, tell me."_

"…_I cannot."_

The furious emotion must have translated its way onto his face, because the Cyclops laughs. "That's right, little demigod," the monster jeers, still imitating Hermes' infuriating voice. "Let those emotions flood your veins and overwhelm your body. It only makes my lunch so. Much. More. Delicious." The Cyclops grins and blinks, though the way he performs it makes it look like a mischievous wink.

Luke struggles to free his hands or wiggle his way out of his blanket burrito, even as his head explodes with pain. He can feel his minimized sword in his pocket—if only he could slip in a hand and activate it. His journey with Thalia and Annabeth can't end here. He can't die here, and he can't let them die either. They have to make it to Camp Half-Blood. They've come too far to die now. Blood pounds through his body, but for all his struggling, he can't break free.

Thalia grunts next to him. Luke flops his way over to her, pressing a shoulder into her arm. Gasping in pain, her eyes—those intense, electric blue eyes—flutter open and dart around, widening when she spots the Cyclops stirring the bubbling pot of soup. Then her gaze flickers over to him, and he smiles in relief even though the gag hides most of his facial expression. "Thalia," he mumbles.

She tries to say something but it doesn't make it past her gag. She tries to move, realizes she can't, and consequently begins to struggle with all her might. A couple feet away, Grover comes to life, squealing and bucking in terror; together, the metal scaffolding squeaks and rocks dangerously. They flail with no success when Luke catches a glimpse of the back of Thalia's neck, where the gag has been secured by a knot—except hers looks like it hasn't been tied tightly enough. He flops on top of her, pinning her in place and looking straight at her. "Stop," he mumbles.

She just looks at him as if he's crazy.

Luke pushes himself off her, then bumps against her shoulder until she rolls over, exposing her neck. Unable to use his hands, he gently leans over… and presses his lips against the back of Thalia's neck, using his teeth to work the cloth knot loose.

"Annabeth, help us!"

A man's voice. Luke doesn't recognize him, but horror almost drives him insane when Annabeth screams back, "Dad? You too?"

It's the Cyclops' mimicking her father's voice. It's exactly how he caught Luke and Grover in the first place—by mimicking both Thalia's and Annabeth's voices crying for help at the end of a dark alleyway.

Luke frantically works on releasing Thalia's knot. If they don't warn her in time…

* * *

Thalia shudders as Luke's hot breath floods around her neck. Maybe it's just the urgent situation or the adrenaline pounding through her veins, but the sensation of Luke's lips on her skin—

"Annabeth, help us!"

Annabeth's here. Thalia's blood freezes. No. Annabeth fighting against an adult Cyclops—she won't last longer than a minute. Thalia screams and tries to twist her way free, but Luke yells behind her and she stills again. If Luke can work the gag's knot free, she can scream a warning…

Too late. Annabeth runs into the room, immediately spots the three of them lying on the elevated scaffolding, and darts straight for them. Eight-year old Annabeth, with only a tiny celestial bronze dagger to fend off a twenty-foot tall Cyclops hiding directly behind her. Thalia screams as the Cyclops swings its club at her tiny body.

At the last second, she drops to the ground. Momentum continues to carry the club past her body, leaving the Cyclops' body open. With incredible speed, Annabeth pops straight off the ground and runs _towards_ the one-eyed giant.

Luke's lips leave her skin; the cloth in her mouth loosens. She spits it out in a panicked scream right as Annabeth stabs the giant in the foot.

The Cyclops doesn't explode into golden dust—after all, the weapon was just a tiny bronze knife. For such a large monster, larger wounds are probably necessary. Nonetheless, the Cyclops topples to the ground, unable to support himself on that foot. Annabeth scampers over to their scaffolding, scales the metal bars, and leaps up next to Grover.

"Annabeth!" Thalia yells as the girl kneels next to her, using the knife to cut the ropes binding the sheet around her body. Thalia emerges from the cloth wrapping just as Annabeth presses something into her palm—her Mace canister.

"Go," Annabeth croaks, and Thalia realizes that tears are dripping down the girl's face. "Get rid of him."

Thalia activates her weapon, and within seconds, her Mace canister has telescoped in her familiar six-foot long spear. Without waiting, Thalia leaps off the scaffolding and charges at the Cyclops.

The monster roars when he spots her and lifts his club—even when sitting down, the Cyclops towers over her. He swings the club horizontally and she tries to leap over it, but there's no way she can jump high enough—

Without thinking, Thalia summons air currents to push her higher. A blast of concentrated wind shoves her higher than any mortal could ever hope to jump—fifteen feet in the air, right at the level of his face. She has one shot to kill him. The muscles in her arms tense as she cocks her arm back; then they snap forward as she throws the spear straight into his huge eye. She wills it to release all its stored electricity, and, upon impact, blue bolts scatter from the shaft and surge into the rest of his body.

Luke screams in agony. No, not Luke—the Cyclops, imitating Luke's voice. But it sounds so real that Thalia loses control of the winds supporting her. She hits the ground and pain explodes through one of her legs. "Luke!" she screams, unable to control herself. "Luke!"

"Thalia!" a voice yells behind her. "Hold on!" Arms wrap around her torso—not Luke's, but Grover's, and his hooves clop as he drags her away from the still flailing Cyclops. Still alive, even after she stabbed him in the eye and electrocuted his face.

Luke dashes past them, his sword held tight in both hands. Thalia tries to get to her feet, but pain pulses up from her ankle and she just collapses onto her hands and knees. Annabeth falls to her knees next to Thalia. "Don't move your leg," the younger girl instructs, and in panic, Thalia notices a slow trickle of blood running down the side of Annabeth's face. "You landed on your ankle wrong."

Thalia cups Annabeth's cheek. "Your head. What happened?"

Annabeth shakes her head. "Nothing, I—"

"No," Thalia interjects forcefully. "We can't lose you." Memory of the small girl running straight towards the Cyclops flashes in her mind—an eight-year old, easily crushed. Easily kicked to the side, easily damaged beyond repair. Easily killed. "Don't go running into situations that you might not… that you can't…"

"Hold on a minute," Grover says behind her, digging through an orange backpack. "I found this in the corner. Whoever used to own it… I think they're too far past the point of no return to use this now…" He splits some sort of squishy jelly bar into two and hands each half to the girls on either side of him. "Eat this."

Thalia doesn't ask—she just shoves it into her mouth. It tastes like… a bacon cheeseburger? She almost wants to spit it back out and inspect it—after all, at first sight, it looked like a lemon bar—but her surprise is nothing compared to the warmth that suddenly radiates around her ankle, throbbing there until the pain dissipates. "Ambrosia," Grover explains as Thalia jumps to her feet—right as Luke embeds his sword right into the Cyclops' throat. The monster gurgles and explodes into white dust.

Thalia pulls herself to her feet, even as Annabeth darts past her in a straight line for Luke. He gasps in shock when two girls tackle him in a crushing hug.

"Luke," Annabeth mumbles, her arms barely reaching around his waist.

He quickly wraps his arms around the both of them. "I'm here, Annabeth," he whispers, squeezing Thalia. "You're safe."

Thalia just buries her face in his shoulder. "We're going to make it to Camp Half-Blood," she swears. "And then we'll all be safe. All of us, I promise."

* * *

_Promises are made to be broken._


	13. Broken

"Run!"

Drops of rain and sweat slide down Luke's arms as he stumbles up the hill, erasing the streaks of blood on his arms. One hand grips his celestial bronze sword and the other is wrapped tight around Annabeth's. They've been running for the past three hours, nonstop—running for the past three weeks from the same bloodthirsty pack of hellhounds.

His mind buzzes. His muscles refuse to respond and his movements are sluggish. He stumbles through the muddy terrain, hardly able to keep traction in the torrent of water flooding down the steep hill. Up ahead, Grover's hooves kick up chunks of mud; behind him, Thalia gasps for breath while urging them onwards.

At this point, Luke can hardly think. He's running off pure survival instinct: one foot in front of the other. Maintain a distance from the tireless monsters. Keep moving. Don't stop, don't fight, don't exhaust yourself. Protect Grover. Protect Thalia. Protect Annabeth—

Annabeth slips, almost dragging Luke down with her. Luke steadies himself with his weapon, regains his footing, and, with Thalia's help, heaves the girl back up.

"Luke," Annabeth chokes, hardly able to catch her breath. "I… I can't…"

"We're almost there!" Luke gasps. "We're almost there. Two years, Annabeth. It's right in front of us."

And the hellhounds are right behind them, barking and howling. Luke can't see them through the pouring rain and the evening darkness, but the menacing wails have followed them for a hundred miles ever since they emerged from Monocle Motors.

Run. That's all they can do, until they reach Camp Half-Blood. No point in fighting when they're so, so close to safety.

Grover yelps, speeding up suddenly. "The top of the hill!" he cries. "The camp's boundary is at the top of the hill!"

Luke glances upward. He can't differentiate between the dark bellies of rainclouds unloading copious amounts of water and the muddy hillside. But somewhere in that wet mess of gray is the finish line. After two years of searching, fighting, and running for their lives, safety is so close.

A piercing howl splits the air behind them, much closer now. Luke stops, his sword ready, but he forgot that Annabeth's still holding his hand. Her forward momentum almost drags him to his knees again.

"Luke," Annabeth pants. "What are you doing?"

"Grover!" Luke yells at satyr galloping ahead. He needs to protect his friends, but somebody else needs to watch the tiny girl. "Take Ann—"

Thalia plants her hand on his back and shoves him forward. "Move!" she barks. "You take Annabeth to the border."

Luke falls this time, releasing Annabeth's hand to catch himself. Mud seeps into his clothing as he turns to face Thalia, still sitting on the ground. "I'll take them on," he growls, brandishing his sword.

Thalia just towers over him, intimidating him into silence. "Hades sent the monsters after me," she retorts. "They won't follow you and Annabeth." Her voice softens as she glances at the younger girl. "You promised, Luke… We're a family." She nods towards the top of the hill, where Grover stands and waves his arms frantically. "Take her to the top. And take care of her, okay?"

Annabeth glances nervously between the two of them as Luke grasps her hand again. She finally says, "What are you two waiting for? We have to go now—"

The last of her words are drowned out by the roar of the first line of monsters—hellhounds, most of them, dodging between the bushes and trees, but also a couple spiders the size of cars. Annabeth screams and practically pulls Luke to his feet.

"Don't be so stupid!" Luke yells at Thalia as she turns away from him and readies her spear—as if her body could shield them from the converging onslaught of monsters. "You can't take them all!"

She looks back at him: soaked black hair smeared against her forehead, a tight smile across her weathered face, and those electric blue eyes—the eyes that shocked him the first time he saw her across the street. He's never forgotten that first look.

Raindrops—or tears—drip down her face as she says, "Luke… I… I love you."

And before he can even process her statement, Thalia's gone. Rushing down the slope, her spear clutched in her hands.

_Family, Luke. You promised. Take care of her._

Luke growls and turns around. Thalia can take care of herself; Annabeth can't, so it's up to him to get her to safety. The girl continues to shriek in fear—the spiders. Annabeth told him that all half-blooded children of Athena are terrified of spiders due to the goddess' history with Arachne—

His mind is wandering. He's exhausted. But Grover is right there and Luke spots the silhouettes of several people lining the top of the hill. Older teenagers, protected with armor, some armed with swords, others with bows and arrows. Luke practically drags Annabeth the last couple hundred feet, sprinting into safety within the boundaries. Arms wrap around the blonde girl and pull her into safety; before they can ensnare the blonde boy, though, he bounds free and flies down the slope towards the concentrated mass of monsters.

* * *

Thalia knows.

The teeth of a hellhound rake her arm, drawing more blood.

She lunges forward. The spear tip punctures three monster bodies, disintegrating the first into dust before moving onto the next. Even so, the pack has her surrounded—and they'll converge as soon as she's knocked down. They bark and whine around her, communicating. She surges up the hill, trying to clear a path, but claws scrape flesh off her ankles and she stumbles. Instantly, snarling hellhounds mob her. Jaws clamp around her limbs. Paws slam her into the mud. She thrusts her spear straight upward, killing the hellhound directly above her—another one just takes its place. She maintains a grip on her weapon, crying out to her father.

_Zeus. Help me. _

She wills a thunderbolt to flood the area, to fill her with crackling energy—because she can feel it bleeding out of her spirit; her life drains from her body, leaving crimson tracks behind. She's losing her grasp on reality_._

The only image that is fixed firmly in her memory is of Luke and Annabeth. Her friends. Her family.

_If you won't help me, father, then keep them safe. Take me, and keep them safe._

Wind swirls around her, lifting her limp body into the air. Thunder rumbles overhead—a reply from her father. Assured, Thalia smiles as bolts of lightning illuminate the landscape around her.

She may not live, but Luke and Annabeth will. And as long as they do, she'll continue on in their memories.

She lets her arms float free, supported by the constant cushion of air beneath her. Her mind slows down; the image of her blonde family blurs. Luke's cheerful smile and dancing blue eyes. Annabeth's unruly, curly hair and her stormy gray eyes. Everything blurs together underneath the shield of crystalline wood that envelops her, encasing her legs, then her hips, then her torso. It sheathes her extended arms and keeps extending. Her spirit expands as the crystalline shield continues to form around her, spreading outwards into branches and twigs and clumps of spiky needles.

Her mind can't keep up. She's losing her grip on consciousness as her spirit continues to dissipate. Annabeth's face…Luke's face…

Everything flashes white.

* * *

He's too late. Even as he charges down the hill, Luke knows he's too late. It might be the torrential rainstorm blocking his vision, but he can't see Thalia's figure anymore.

Hurricane-force winds fling him backwards. Thunder rumbles, echoing amongst the clouds as lightning jumps horizontally above him.

He struggles to his feet—he can't lose Thalia. Not after she told him… and he hasn't told her.

_Family, Luke. You promised_.

Arms wrap around him. He struggles. Screams. She's family too and he can't let her die. She can't just throw her life away like that. He has to protect her too.

Luke's vision flashes white—seconds later, waves of heat flash through his body. Thunder blasts through his ears as he blanks out again. Lightning strike after lightning strike, a continuous assault of bolts raining down upon the crowd of monsters, instantly reducing them to ashes. Luke shields his eyes with an arm, but not before he catches a glimpse of Thalia's silhouetted body.

Floating in midair. Smiling.

Wind howls, driving the rainfall horizontally. Pure power hums through the air, electric. A display of strength from the god of gods himself.

And then everything stops. Thunder, rain, wind. Nothing moves.

Luke finally glances at the spot where Thalia once stood.

She's gone.

In her place stands a pine tree that towers above the surrounding forest. Every one of the tree's needles sparkle white, as if filled with electrifying power. One by one, though, the light emanating from the needles sizzles and fades away until only the moon illuminates the hill leading up to Camp Half-Blood.

Luke's heart breaks the moment that the light of the last needle flickers and disappears. Thalia is gone; her spirit has faded away into the depths of a tree. She'll never look at him with her electric blue eyes. She'll never run to him, fight next to him, hug him, or touch him. He'll never hear her voice again, whether it's to yell at him or tell him that she loves him.

And she'll never hear what he wants to tell her.

That he loves… that he loved her too.

Thalia is dead, and a part of Luke dies as well.

* * *

_Author's Rant: Notice Luke's use of past tense when referring to Thalia. Ultimately, I think that's why he poisons the pine tree five years later - Luke believes that Thalia is dead and gone. The tree is only a monument to her and a tie back to his old life full of neglect, hurt, and hate. By poisoning the tree, Luke severs ties to painful, broken memories and continues forward with Kronos' plans._

_Shout outs to the fanfics that inspired me to begin writing two years ago: "Hero, Standing Alone" by **icy roses** and "The Road Less Traveled" by **Youko-Kokuryuuha**. __Thanks for the reviews! It's brought me here this far and now I can proudly say that I have finished a story!_


	14. I loved you

**Epilogue**_**  
**_

_**One year later**_

"Thalia… can you hear me?"

In what is probably one of the most illogical things to do, nine-year old Annabeth sits at the edge of Camp Half-Blood and _talks_ to a pine tree.

It's the huge pine tree that Thalia transformed into a year ago - but Annabeth still remembers the sparkling pine needles that dimmed into dead darkness as if it were just yesterday.

"It's sunny out," Annabeth murmurs quietly. Warm winds, bright sunshine unconcealed by clouds, birds chirping. It _is _spring, after all, and the strawberries are growing nicely.

"You liked strawberries, didn't you," Annabeth smiles faintly. "Luke said you did. The strawberries here are huge and really juicy. I think the reason they grow so well is because there are a couple satyrs here who _really_ know how to play the panpipes." She laughs. "Grover isn't allowed to play near the strawberry fields though, or else they'll try to strangle anybody nearby."

Annabeth looks at the trunk and follows the rough bark up to the very top. The pine tree looks old. Very, very old. So much unlike the energetic girl she once knew. She runs her fingers over the tree's bumpy surface. "Luke won't come up here with me," she mumbles sadly. "I hardly see him at camp anyways, but when I ask him to, he tells me that it's pointless—that you can't hear us."

The tree whispers softly as a warm breeze stirs through the pine needles.

Annabeth curls her fingers into a fist. "I don't care if you don't have ears or eyes or a mouth. What matters is that you're still here, and that Luke and I are here and _safe_ because of you. Why are the magical barriers surrounding the camp so powerful? Your spirit's the one keeping them up. You're still keeping your promises. …We've all made it to Camp Half-Blood, and we're all safe. You, me, and Luke."

The breeze dances by and Thalia's pine tree falls silent.

"Luke… don't worry about him. He's keeping his promise too. We have games of Capture-the-Flag every Friday. Even if he's not on my team, he'll try to keep other people from attacking me. It's sort of annoying, actually; how am I supposed to train if I can't fight people?"

A harsh blast of wind, and the tree groans.

"You can manipulate winds, right?" Annabeth smiles. "It's like you're still talking to me. …Luke thinks he can hide it, but I notice that he gets a little angry every time I talk about us coming up together. Then it'd be like old times. Like… our family," she finishes softly.

The pine needles shuffle restlessly.

"I think I know why he seems so angry whenever I mention family. He blames his dad. He blames _your_ dad. He thinks they don't care—but they do!" Annabeth insists. "My mother… she guided us here. And Zeus preserves you inside that tree so you don't have to face Hades in the Underworld. I'm sure of it."

Silence.

"I just… I just wish you were still here with us." Moisture gathers at the corners of her eyes and she tries to hold the tears back by rambling. "Camp Half-Blood is great—there's a swimming pond and a climbing wall and a huge dining pavilion where there's plenty of food just sitting on the tables, waiting for you to pick it up. Though when we sit down, we're only allowed to sit with our cabin, and that's another reason why I don't see Luke as much anymore. That, and the camp is organized into cabins according to our godly parentage—so I'm in Athena's cabin, and Luke's in Hermes' cabin. Really, I only see him at mealtimes, because we train according to cabins. So I'm learning how to use the computer stimulator at Athena's cabin, and Luke is sword fighting, and you're up here… It's like our family's falling apart…"

A tear slips down her cheek.

"Family," she whispers, pressing her fingers against Thalia's bark. "We're still a family. Even if you're stuck in there, Thalia, I swear… You're still here in my heart."

She sits there for a moment before her stupid logical mind catches up, notifying her that she's crying to a tree that probably can't hear her.

Never mind that Thalia can't hear her; the point is, Thalia's still there. Sleeping inside the tree. Smiling. Annabeth saw Thalia's transformation. The wooden threads weaving their way around Thalia's torso. Her peaceful countenance disappearing underneath smooth wood, and then the smooth wood disappearing underneath rough bark.

"Thank you… for protecting us," Annabeth murmurs, leaning her back against the tree and relaxing. "I love you, Thalia."

* * *

"Thalia… can you hear me?"

A cloud passes over the moon, darkening the landscape. Sixteen-year old Luke sits quietly next to Thalia's pine tree, almost waiting for an answer.

"Of course not," Luke mutters to himself. "Why should I expect you to answer? Annabeth says your spirit's still in there… whatever. You're not out here, and that's what matters. Without you… I'm alone."

He bends forward, leaning his forehead against the rough bark. A brief moment passes, and it's almost as if light seeps into his closed eyelids. Like the night she was transformed into a tree, when every needle glowed brilliant white.

His eyes snap open. It is brighter—but only because the cloud previously blocking the moon passed on, leaving it to illuminate the countryside once more.

The tree's bark scratches his forehead as he slumps against it. Thalia is no more. She might be in the tree but that doesn't matter. A tree can't move forward. It can't speak. It can't say "I love you" and it certainly can't comprehend anything he might want to say back to her.

Like _I love you too._

There. He finally said it. Like it makes any difference. As a pine tree, Thalia probably uses all her energy sucking water out of the ground and absorbing sunlight through her needles. And at night? Probably sleeping, like every other mammal and human in Camp Half-Blood.

That's why he's here now—so he can be alone with what's left of Thalia.

And also so they can't hear what he's going to say next.

"Why?" he snarls. "The little hurricane, the bolts of lightning, the thunder and the rain—they came only after you died, after Hades' hellhounds tore you apart and mixed your blood with the mud. Why didn't _your father_ save your life? If you're his _child_, why did he just watch you _die_?" Luke's lips curl in disgust. "Unless he doesn't care. Just like my father. Just like all the gods."

Luke punches the ground in fury.

Thalia's tree doesn't groan or whisper or do any of the small communications Annabeth eagerly tells him about. Nothing but dead silence.

"Nothing I say will change anything," he carps. "If anything, Zeus would probably just strike me dead for disrespect or defiance."

Thunder rumbles in a relatively clear night sky.

"Thalia…" Luke stops himself. There's no point in speaking to her specifically, in throwing intimate words at her, when she can't hear him. At most, all he can do is speak his thoughts aloud. Saying his opinions in words concretes them in his mind. With no human ear to confide and discuss, Luke can only bounce thoughts off the memorial of his best friend. No, more than a best friend. Family, and more. Much more.

"…I loved you," he whispers. For just a second, he allows his heart to seep through. The heart that shattered the night she was crystallized into a pine tree, never to return—a part of him died that night, right along with her.

He pulls himself back together. He can't afford to be weak. Not now. Not when Thalia can no longer protect herself. Thalia was part of his family and she is still tied inexplicably to her. She may not exist in flesh anymore, but she continues to live on in his heart. "I swear, Thalia," he growls, clenching his hands into fists. "I will never forget you. I won't let you die away, forgotten by your father.

"The gods will never, _never_ forget what happened to you."

* * *

**_The end._**


End file.
